Nocturne
by CelticX
Summary: Evocative of the night, when most people seek a welcome rest from their labors. But for some the end of the day comes far too early. They go into that long night fearful of what the dark future holds. Noda Megumi is one that fears the setting of the sun because she knows that the darkness will bring only more pain and loneliness, unless her friends can somehow come to her rescue.
1. Chapter 1

_Nocturne_

* * *

Nocturne – _noun_, (näk-ˌtərn)

(1) A piece of music, especially for the piano, that has a soft and somewhat sad melody. (2) A work of art dealing with evening or night; especially a dreamy and pensive composition for the piano. (3) A musical composition inspired by, or evocative of, the night.

* * *

Chapter One

_Cadenza_

* * *

Cadenza – _noun_, (kə-ˈden-zə)

(1) An elaborate, ornamental melodic flourish interpolated into an aria or other vocal piece; (2) An extended virtuosic section for the soloist usually near the end of a movement of a concerto.

* * *

Bright lights flashed from dozens upon dozens of cameras, nearly blinding the paparazzi's celeb du jour as she quickly crossed the crowded sidewalk filled with reporters and well-wishers and entered the rear of the waiting limo followed closely by her agent and business manager. The darkly tinted windows at least muted the continuing flashes of light as the seemingly unending array of photographers tried desperately to capture that one elusive picture of a star – any star – that would make their name and fortune.

"Better luck next time, vultures," came the virtuosa's sharp, biting comment.

"Now, now, Nodame-chan, they're just doing their job," Elise chided her protégé. "Where do you think you'd be right now if it were not for all of the publicity those same 'vultures' provide for you?"

"Happily sitting at home reading a good book and composing more music for children's shows," Noda Megumi replied unrepentantly, crossing her arms and giving her friend a petulant glare. "Which is where I'd like to go right now." She turned her eyes toward the front driver's seat pleadingly. "Please, take me home Oliver," she begged in a tired voice.

"Yes, Nodame-chan," the large man replied with a gentle, knowing smile.

"But the night's still young?" Elise gasped. "You've just finished off your world tour here in Tokyo where it all started! You can't simply go home. You need to be out and about, to see and be seen by all your adoring fans! You can't disappoint them!"

"The only person I'd be disappointing is you, Elise, and you know it," the concert pianist responded with little enthusiasm and absolutely no desire to 'see and be seen' by anyone other than the stuffed animals that lined her bed. She slumped further down into the seat. "You've run me ragged for the past eight months, never leaving me with even a single moment to myself. This tour hasn't been a whirlwind. It's been more like a cyclone or tornado! But it's over now and you can no longer dictate my schedule and my life. I'm going home and that's that!"

"Oliver, don't you dare go anywhere other than Spago East! Nodame-chan has an appointment with the permanent conductor of the Tokyo Philharmonic in twenty minutes and we can't have him waiting!"

"Oliver…" Nodame cooed and batted her eyelashes.

"Yes, Nodame-chan. Home it is," Oliver grinned.

"OLIVER!" Elise shrieked in outrage. "How dare you ignore my orders!"

Tired brown eyes sparkled briefly with their old delight at the woman's consternation. "Oliver knows very well who really pays his salary, Elise," Nodame chuckled softly before the look in her eyes changed back to simple exhaustion. "You've also run _him_ into the ground these past eight months. I promised him a week off with pay and I'll be damned if I'm going to go back on my word!"

"A week! With pay!" the blonde agent gaped in shock. "How dare…"

"Nodame-chan even flew my family in for the week," Oliver interrupted the blonde's tirade grinning from ear-to-ear in his seat behind the wheel of the town car. "The wife and kids have always wanted to come to Japan. They're really looking forward to it. Face it Elise, our little girl has outwitted you…again!"

Elise opened her mouth to retaliate, but Nodame was saved from whatever diatribe the European woman was bound to start spouting by the sound of a cell phone ringing. With a look that said their little 'discussion' wasn't over yet by a long shot, Elise opened her phone and listened to the caller on the other end. "They're still there?" she sighed dramatically, but Nodame could see the spark of gleeful avarice in her eyes. "No, don't try to get rid of them. It's the same as last night and every prior performance. The audience needs to have their cathartic moment. They'll eventually leave when they've stopped crying. Just give them some time. All right. Yes, it was a splendid concert, wasn't it? Okay, I'll pass on your thanks and congratulations. Yes, you too." She hung up with another sigh. "Well, you've done it again, Nodame-chan. You left them weeping in the aisles."

"Everyone needs a good cry sometimes," the musical artist known worldwide as The Queen of the Night smiled sadly as she slunk down even further into the limousine's plush leather. "Even famous pianists," she murmured quietly, closing her eyes and hoping that her friend and business manager would take the hint and leave her alone for at least a short while.

This final concert, just like the first one that had kicked off her tour, was filled with vibrant, joyful pieces, each one more powerful and uplifting than the one before it, until the last piece. For nearly the entire night she gave the audience what they wanted to hear, the same kind of lively, eccentric music that had propelled her to the pinnacle of stardom. But not that last piece. That one was hers and hers alone.

It was a nocturne that she herself had composed. All those composition classes, all those hundreds of hours of study and practice, all that analysis and history had finally paid off. She'd completed the complicated piece right before the start of this last tour. And just as it had for Elise the first time she'd played it for the woman that was now arguably closer to her than anyone else in her life, the concert's finale had never failed to bring her audience to tears. Even as they showered her with praise and standing ovations, they did so with salty rivulets streaming down their cheeks and sobs too powerful to be stifled by merely human lips.

The three-movement concerto said everything that she could not. It bared her soul to the world, forcing them to become unwilling witnesses to the deep chasm of her pain and loneliness; the shards of her shattered dreams; the grudging acceptance of a life without light and love. After nearly two hours of raising them up to the heights and glory of Heaven, she brought them crashing down to the reality that Heaven doesn't exist and never did. It was just a figment of an optimistic mind, no more real than Oz or Narnia – but no matter how harsh, life must go on and maybe, just maybe, they might eventually find the light of a single candle flickering at the end of that long, dark passage.

It was the piece that had somehow garnered her the title 'Queen of the Night' from the critics and talking heads. She certainly couldn't see her name in the same company as the greats like Chopin, Mozart, Bartok, and Ravel, but for some reason the pundits kept comparing her work to theirs, especially when they went on to say how her interpretation of the master's music somehow outshone all previous renditions. As far as Nodame was concerned they were no more and no less than complete and utter idiots. She was a simple piano player, not some fabled composer and artiste that everyone looked up to. She was just plain old Noda Megumi from a small farming community in Kyushu, no matter what anyone else might try to say of her.

That's all she was and ever would be.

For whatever reason, Elise left off her harangue and remained mostly quiet the rest of the ride to Nodame's condo, only occasionally making small talk that was easy to ignore or hum an answer to. Even the traffic appeared to be conscious of its need to remain in the background, muted, not attempting to bypass the thick noise deadening panels of the limo and leaving the tired musician to her thoughts.

Why her friend and manager had decided that Roppongi Hills was the only place Nodame could live was also beyond her, but at least her apartment in one of the four residential towers surrounding the Mori Tower was both spacious and soundproofed. She could play her Steinway D at any hour of the day or night without having to worry about disturbing the neighbors, an important consideration at three in the morning when no amount of medication was able to alleviate her chronic depression and grant her the blessings of dreamless sleep.

"_Why are you being this way? I don't understand!"_

"_No, you never did."_

She quickly and expertly masked the pain of ill-timed memory. That too had gotten easier over the past few years. Likely far too easy if that meant anything, but better that than the alternative. _Please, Oliver, just get me home quickly. That's all I ask,_ she begged silently.

After being dropped off in her building's underground garage to avoid the crowds of photographers and press, Nodame politely refused Elise's offer to walk her upstairs, instead asking her to please provide her sincerest apologies to the Philharmonic's conductor, but to let him know she was just too exhausted immediately after her concert, but that she'd be willing to meet with him sometime in the future. Just don't ask me when, she smiled as she blew a kiss to Oliver, placed a small peck on Elise's cheek, and wished the two a good evening.

If _he_ had taught her anything it was to take proper care of her body. The lesson may have finally been learned late, but it had been learned, so as soon as she opened the door to her condo she placed a call to Mr. Wu's down on the third floor and ordered up a large bowl of ramen. Her shoes she left at the door. Her floor-length black gown and stole ended up lying haphazardly across the back of the sofa. Her hose hit the floor in the hallway to her bedroom while her panties and bra finally ended up on the bed. By the time her doorbell rang to signal the arrival of her late dinner she had put on a soft bathrobe, removed her makeup, and brushed the hairspray out of her still relatively short locks.

After eating her fill, which wasn't really all that much – _sorry sempai_ – she took a quick shower before getting into the tub to soak her aching muscles. But before that she took four, extra-strength ibuprofen.

"Not much longer now," she sighed resignedly, sinking deeply into the steaming tub so that only her closed eyes and nose are above the waterline.

-oo-

"You need to push harder on her CD sales, Elise," Oliver commented quietly as he drove his putative boss to the Spago East restaurant so that she could pass on Nodame's apologies. "You can't just keep running her ragged like this."

"You don't think I know that?" the blonde replied quietly, her eyes watching the luminous city of Tokyo passing by in the night. "I may have been even more of an ogress this time than ever before, but just think about how the publicity from this tour has grown her popularity, not to mention her bank account. And with the recordings we've got, putting out a live album will be a cinch, especially with her _Nocturne_ as the final cut."

"What about the other recordings of her earlier live performances? Any chance of those seeing the light of day?"

This time it was Elise's turn to sink back into the dark-grained leather of the limo, her eyes looking up at the fabric-clad roof as if she could pierce the sheet metal to find some kind 'kamisama' that would deign listen to a gaijin. Heck, at this point she'd settle for, what did Nodame call it, an akuma?

"Later," came her soft reply. "They've got a better chance for selling after this CD is complete and has made at least its initial run. I think we can get at least two or three pressings out of this one."

"So you're going to give her that time off?" the driver asked with a soft smile, knowing that a heart actually did beat behind that impressive chest no matter what others might think or say.

"What other choice do I have," Elise argued, but not vehemently. "As you said, she's been run ragged. She needs to have some time to recoup…but I need to get her some one-night only gigs while she's here in Japan. 'Local darling makes good' and all that claptrap. I'll find a way to smooth over the Tokyo Phil. I'll also pull in the NHK, TBK, Suntory, Sumida, and anyone else I can think of. Hell, I'll get her into Budokan and the Tokyo Dome!"

"Don't go hog wild with this," Oliver interrupted her with a warning, but couldn't really object overmuch. It wasn't like he had much say in the matter anyway. His only real concern was Nodame.

"Have you ever known me to back down from a challenge?" the manager's sparkling, bespectacled, evil eyes winked at him in the rearview mirror.

"Just don't kill the poor girl," he laughed softly.

"That wouldn't be in the current plans, no," Elise grinned.

"Speaking of challenges, have you heard from Maestro Stresemann? Any word from that front?"

"No, none," the grey-eyed manager grumped, not angry per se, simply frustrated at her older and more recalcitrant artist's lack of progress. "All I know is that he'd better not be spending all his time at those stupid hostess clubs. If he is," she held up her clenched fist and pounded it against the roof of the car hard enough that there was a distinct metallic clang, "I swear I'll _geld_ that over-the-hill, over-sexed stallion!"

Oliver could only chuckle at Elise's manner while worrying about the status of the limo's roof. It was a rental after all.

"He'd better be holding up his end of the bargain!" the woman continued her rant.

"I'm sure he's doing everything he can, Elise," the driver, sometimes muscle, and general gopher tried to calm his employer down. "You know as well as I do how he feels about that girl. Do you honestly think he'd let her down?"

"He's made mistakes before," Elise sighed deeply, "I mean, just look at that fiasco in London and the aftermath. I got her signed, but then she up and disappeared on us without a word."

"Still can't believe she went all the way to Egypt," Oliver shook his head, "then got herself lost on the way back. Missing for more than a week, no one could find her, and she shows up at a Paris daycare center playing Beethoven for kindergartners."

"It took Charles Auclair months to get her back to where she was willing to enter even a low level concours, and nearly a year before she won the Concours Géza Anda. I doubt he'll ever forgive Franz for wasting all that time. It put him a year behind schedule and nearly bollixed the whole thing."

"And the Maestro's spent the last five years trying to make up for it," Oliver rightfully pointed out.

"For all the good it's done," the blonde snorted in contempt. "She's still alone."

And that was the crux of the matter and the one thing Oliver couldn't argue. Nodame was at this moment in her large luxury condo, probably some of the most expensive real estate in Japan per square meter, and she had absolutely no one to share it with. Not the flat, not her fame, not her music…nothing. She was alone when she shouldn't have been. Everything that had gone wrong could be traced back to that one concert in London, Nodame's ill-fated "debut." She'd garnered wonderful reviews both in London and abroad. The video of her performance of Chopin's Piano Concerto No. 1 that Elise had uploaded to the web had over a hundred million hits by now; her website more than four hundred million, but that one concert had also pushed her over the edge. Between her depression and belief that she'd never play with her beloved Chiaki-sempai conducting, her downward spiral had been a terrible thing to behold.

Whether Nodame had been truly prophetic or she'd somehow brought it about on her own, a self-fulfilling prophecy, she had never once played piano in public with Chiaki Shinichi conducting. Her one real dream had never been realized. Instead they'd ended up having a(nother) falling out that Oliver had never been able to properly understand, not that Nodame had been overly coherent at the time. All he knew was that Chiaki had ended up staying in Italy to study with Sebastiano Vieira while Nodame had had to be almost literally dragged out of her depressed state by the small children she played for, her close friends, her family, Charles Auclair, and, eventually, the man Auclair had introduced her to after she won the Géza Anda, Christoph Erlichmann, musical director for the National Symphony Orchestra in Washington, DC.

Three years under Christoph's expert tutelage, of concours and recitals, of salons and mini-concerts, Miss Noda Megumi slowly but surely became the darling of DC. She took Philadelphia by storm and held Boston in the palm of her hand. Kansas City, San Francisco, Portland, LA, Miami, Phoenix, Dallas, Toronto, Quebec, Seattle, Chicago, each city fell one-by-one under her emotive magic. Some critics had started calling her the Mahou Shoujo of the Piano. By the end of her third year in the States, New York was begging her to be their guest soloist and the invitations to London and Paris, Prague and Moscow, Vienna and Florence had started pouring in.

Nodame's first CD had sold well both in the States as well as abroad. Brief, ten and twenty city tours of Europe followed. They hit all the important venues, big and small, and left each and every one of them wanting more. Her second CD had flown to the top of the charts, if only briefly, before settling down to where it still held its place in the top one hundred, an astounding feat for someone who was essentially a newcomer. Eventually came the world tour that had just culminated with back-to-back sold out shows in Tokyo. Five years after her first dramatic debut in London, twenty-nine year old pianist Noda Megumi was once again sitting atop the classical music world. This third CD, if Elise had her way, would most likely remain at number one for weeks or months to come.

It would also give Nodame time to relax and recoup at home, to get her mind and body back in shape to meet the still hectic but much lighter schedule that everyone knew her manager would press upon her. Oliver's favorite pianist would need that short vacation, and those CD and concert ticket sales.

Because they were running out of time.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

_Accelerando_

* * *

Accelerando – (/ak-sel-_uh_-ran-doh), _noun_,

A tempo mark that directing that a passage be played with increasing speed;

_Adv. and Adj._,

(1) Gradually accelerating or quickening in time; (2) to be performed with increasing speed.

* * *

He was running out of time.

Franz Von Stresemann, self-proclaimed conductor extraordinaire and God's gift to womankind (but only if they're cute), ran a wrinkled, liver spotted hand through his thinning, dyed-blonde hair, reluctantly looked one more time in the mirror at his aging visage, and heaved a deep sigh of discontent. Franz was all about instant gratification, whether it be in love or music. Playing the long-game just wasn't his forte, but after his last disastrous trip down this particular road he finally realized that 'instant' wasn't in the cards when it came to one Noda Megumi. Nor, if he was to be perfectly honest with himself, with one Chiaki Shinichi either. And the two of them together…if there was anything to come of that Franz knew he'd have to be in it for the long haul. Nothing was instant when it came to those two kids except maybe getting on each other's nerves.

At least, that's the way it had been in the past. These days they didn't get on each other's nerves at all. It's awfully hard to do that when you don't see or speak to the other person for nearly five years. Miscommunications and misunderstandings, those kinds of things he could understand. They were almost inevitable when people are close and care about each other. But not even speaking? No, that was wholly unacceptable.

_Look who's talking, Franz you old womanizer_, a voice very much like Elise's rang through his thoughts. _You're more of a child than either of those two have ever been. When was the last time you actually spoke to Sebastiano in anything like a civilized conversation? He's one of your few contemporaries left in this world. And face it, you did come on to his wife. He had every right to be angry with you._

Well, he'd have to talk to Vieira now. There was no other way around it. Not if he wanted to eventually leave this world and have some small – _all right, Elise, you old hag, miniscule!_ – chance of staying out of the hot seat when he eventually had to stand before the Ultimate Judge and atone for all his many sins. There was no other way. He and Sebastiano shared both the duties and rewards of tutoring the young Japanese conducting prodigy and so far the Italian had been seriously negligent in that one very important aspect of any musician's life. Analysis and technique were all fine and good, but no conductor would ever amount to anything when they continually denied their own heart. As the Americans say, it was time for Vieira to step up to the plate and take one for the team.

Checking his aging image in the gilt mirror one last time and wondering where his vaunted youth and good looks had run off to in just a few years, Franz pinched his cheeks to give them a nice rosy hue before he left his rented suite and headed down to the hotel's main lobby. The Grand Hotel et de Milan was one of the oldest in the city, originally built in 1863 by renowned architect Andrea Pizzala it was a tribute to the neo-Gothic movement. Famous guests included Giuseppe Verdi, Enrico Caruso, and Maria Callas. The word opulent simply didn't do the wonderful old building credit. The reception area was tiled in a fine cream colored marble with grey accents. Everywhere you looked gave you the feeling that you were standing in one of the grande Milan palazzi. Best of all, it was only a two minute walk from the Teatro alla Scala Opera House. It was therefore the best and most convenient place for the conductor and his apprentice to stay while preparing for the opening of Verdi's _La Traviata_.

"Apprentice, bah! More like his personal slave," Franz sniffed with disdain as he took a seat in the lobby from which he could see everything around him given the number of full-mirrored walls. A roaring fire was blazing in the large Gothic fireplace and he'd just picked up a local paper to pretend to read when his two targets got off the elevator. "Show time," he grinned, digging his nose into the paper to better take them by surprise.

Maestro Vieira looked far too young for his years, but nowhere near as young looking as the black-haired Asian man striding purposefully beside him. It had always irked Franz just how long the Japanese seemed to hold onto their youthful good looks. He was sure Shinichi would be able to snag the hostesses long after he was Franz' age. The two men were making their way toward the front door, speaking animatedly, and had just passed his position when he dropped the newspaper to his lap and loudly called out to them in a strident voice.

"Thief! Thief!"

Both men turned around, glancing back and forth across the room to see if they could spot whoever it was that was supposedly stealing something. It wasn't until Stresemann came abruptly to his feet and pointed a long finger at the older of the pair that they realized it was one of them that was being accused.

"Thief! Vieira you bastard thief! How dare you run off with _my_ protégé! You're nothing but a common horse thief!"

"Stresemann," Sebastiano Vieira sighed with unfeigned exasperation. "What are you doing here, you old womanizer? Are you here to make another run at my wife?"

"At least I backed off when I found out she was your wife! You certainly can't say the same you robber of apprentices! When are you going to give me my Chiaki back?"

"Maestro Stresemann," Chiaki Shinichi mimicked Vieira-sensei's sigh and added a dark glare of his own, "I'm not yours to take nor Maestro Vieira's to give. I am my own man. It's my choice to be learning from this great man. No one is holding me here without my leave."

"Learning!" the old German sputtered in outrage. "What more could you possibly learn from this flea-bitten old has been. Opera?! From what I hear you're already handling more than half the performances! He's just using you," he hacked and coughed in his fury, covering his mouth with a hastily pulled handkerchief to keep the spittle from flying everywhere. His left hand clutched at his shirt above his heart. "You're nothing but his backup!" he yelled again, wheezing this time. "You're your own man? Ha! When was the last time you made a decision on your own? No, you're this dog's lackey! Nothing more!" he coughed again, bending at the waist to try to catch his breath. "You should have been on your own years ago. Vieira's doing nothing but holding you back!" he hacked again, slipping to one knee, angled toward the older of the two men.

Sebastiano Vieira, fearing that Franz might be having a seizure, knelt before him and tried to hold him up. Franz leaned into him, putting his lips right next to the old man's ear.

"Please, Sebastiano, I'll apologize to both you and your darling wife, I'll do anything you ask of me, but as a fellow artist, as an old friend, please I beg of you, just go along with me," he whispered beseechingly. He felt the other man tense, but only for a moment before he relaxed and tightened his grip.

"What game are you playing now, Franz?" he heard his oldest friend chuckle under his breath. "Whatever it is, it had better be good." He then sat back on his heels and called out over the rising din of shocked and worried onlookers. "An ambulance. Someone call for an ambulance. The man's having a heart attack!"

"Thank you, dear friend," Franz grinned before faking another death rattle and rasping gasp for breath. A quick glance at Shinichi-kun showed him both aggravated and worried, but with the concern for his old mentor winning out. _Good. Good, Shinichi. Maybe not all is lost after all._

-oo-

"Nodame, do you have any idea what time it is?" Yadovi sighed into her cellphone from beneath a pile of blankets. "I only got to bed like, two hours ago."

"Gyabo! Sorry, Yadovi-sempai," Nodame apologized profusely in French, bowing several times even though she knew the person on the other end of the phone couldn't see her. "I've been going for so long I'm not sure what country I'm in, let alone what time zone. I'll call you back in," she looked at her watch which she'd finally set to Tokyo time, "six hours. Is that all right? That'll be, oh drat, I hate doing the stupid math, I think it'll be around five in the afternoon here. Or is it five there? Damn. I just don't know."

The blatant laughter coming from the phone's small speakers set her to giggling herself.

"It's all right, Nodame-chan, I'm awake now anyway. What was it you wanted?" the waif-like composer chuckled.

"You, Yadovi-chan," Nodame sighed. "I need you."

"I hate to say this," the younger girl laughed again from her one room attic apartment in Paris, "but I don't swing that way." Nodame could hear the sliding of fabric as the former member of the Conservatory's Composition Department moved to sit up or in some other way make herself more comfortable. "At least I haven't since high school," the girl qualified with another chuckle. "Although there was that one time…"

"Mukya! Enough, Yadovi!" Megumi laughed heartily. "I don't need to know about your past amorous adventures and experimentation, you braggart. Thirty-year-old virgin here, remember!"

"Not for lack of trying from what I hear," Yadovi snickered from six thousand miles away.

"Don't believe everything you read in the papers, dear," Nodame sighed. "That boy was half my age. Even Lucas Beaudry is now older than he is. Do you honestly think I'm going to go cradle robbing some fifteen year old boy's virginity?"

"I don't know, he was kinda cute," came the soft giggle again. "Might be worth a bit of jail time."

"Can we not talk about my non-existent sex life, PLEASE!" laughed Nodame.

"Spoilsport. If we don't talk sex, what did you call for?"

Nodame took a deep breath to calm herself and get her giggles under control before she asked in all seriousness, "Did you get the file I sent you?" The silence on the other end of the phone spoke volumes. "Yadovi?"

"Um, yeah, I got it," the other girl gulped. "it's a bit…different."

"Sometimes different is good?" Nodame asked it as a question even though she already knew the answer for herself. She still had major issues with feelings of inadequacy even with all of the rave reviews her performances and recent composition had received. All it ever took was one negative comment to start to eat at what little pride and self-esteem she still had. But that was going to all be in the past very soon. And at least until then she had her Zoloft.

"You remember what we talked about the day we first met," she went on to answer the other girl's inherent question. "About how the old composers were performers as well, and how they used to give impromptu performances and even modify the arrangements of their own works while they played them? Well, I'm just taking that same thought to a slightly higher level."

"Don't get me wrong, Nodame," Yadovi was quick to interject, "I love what I'm seeing here. It's just that it reminds me more of Keith Emerson or Rick Wakeman – two of the ruling gods of symphonica – than it does Chopin, Mozart, or Beethoven."

"Actually, I was going for a bit of both," Nodame winced.

"What? Both symphonica and classical? Well, you've certainly done that!" Yadovi exclaimed and the budding composer sitting in her condo in Tokyo couldn't stop the grin from lighting up her face. "I mean, this is really, really good! Just as with the visual arts you can see the influences in a painter's work, same deal with music. I can see the influences of Chopin, Schumann, and Mozart, even a bit of Ravel in the playful parts, but I can also see some ELP, Yes, and…now, Nodame, please don't kill me if I'm wrong, but…is that Peter Gabriel?"

"You've got a good ear, Yadovi," Noda Megumi laughed, "but then, I already knew that. If I could've figured out how to get a bit of Kermit the Frog in there as well…"

There was the briefest of pauses on the other end before Yadovi replied with a soft smile, "yeah, it's not easy being green."

It was an old, but not funny joke the two shared with regards to their individualistic ways of creating, playing, and enjoying music. Neither girl really wanted to march to the beat of the critic's drums; especially not when those drums hadn't been updated since the early to mid-twentieth century. In fact, many were still stuck in the sixteen and seventeen hundreds! But in order to pay the bills certain sacrifices were made, which led to more sacrifices once that particular door was opened. Well, Nodame was planning on slamming that door shut once and for all. She didn't care. Once, just once, she wanted to play her own style of music without being constrained by the walls that hemmed her in or the lines that everyone told her she couldn't cross.

She'd faced the damned music straight on! Now it was music's turn to face her!

"Please, just tell me you can do it," she pleaded with the girl that had become as much muse and partner as friend.

"You know me, Nodame," and she could actually hear the shrug in the girl's voice, "I'll give it my best shot. You're going to have to be the final judge as to whether or not I 'did' it to your satisfaction."

"I trust you, Yadovi," Nodame sniffed, happier than she had been for quite a long time now. "I know it won't be you that lets me down; it'll be my own limitations."

"Well, don't go crying over milk that ain't been spilt yet," the blonde girl piped up happily, her effervescent personality bubbling and raising Nodame's spirits right along with her. "Is next week soon enough?"

"Perfect, Yadovi. That'll be just perfect. I can't thank you enough."

"Just be sure to include some decent percussion and I'll be happy," the younger girl, who had actually graduated from the Conservatory before Nodame, laughed. "I'm already seeing some big ass drums here. A hell of a lot bigger than tympani."

"Yes, sempai!" Nodame giggled. "Don't worry, I'll take care of you."

"Then let your damn sempai get some damn sleep," Yadovi yawned. "It's an hour closer to dawn now and I've got at least a good twelve hours of composition ahead of me."

"Sweet dreams, Maestro," the Japanese girl told her dear friend.

As soon as she'd hung up the phone, Nodame headed to the kitchen to grab a few more ibuprofen along with a glass of juice and a couple of onigiri left over from the previous night's dinner. It might be close to noon, but she was still dressed in her warm pajamas, fuzzy slippers on her feet, and her hair looking more like a nest built by a particularly insane bird. With nowhere to go and no one to entertain, she saw no reason to get dressed in anything better. Taking her makeshift brunch with her, she moved to the piano in the living room, took a seat on the bench, placed her plate of food and glass on the small music shelf above the keyboard and fall, and started in on her finger exercises. Add in a few scales, a few arpeggios, and she was ready to start in on the simple songs that she'd found to increase her dexterity and reach. A half hour later she was ready to try a real piece. Within forty-five minutes she could already feel the twinges starting up.

"Okay, composition it is," she sighed in frustration, refusing to give in to depression and just moving on to a different, but likely just as important task. However, before she could get into that the alarm on her computer started playing the opening to Mozart's Concerto No. 1. "Then again, I guess the doctor waits for no man," she sighed again, this one not so much out of frustration as from a feeling of impending doom. She had just enough time to shower and get dressed before taking the elevator down to the fifth floor where her doctor's office was currently located. At precisely four P.M. she walked through the door into the reception area.

"He's running a couple of minutes behind, Nodame-chan," the secretary told her as soon as the door closed behind her. "Did you want to wait here or in the exam room?"

"Here's fine, thank you," the concert pianist replied with a warm smile, her professional persona slipping into place like a well-worn pair of slippers. It was just too bad that it wasn't anywhere near as comfortable.

_Ditzy airheads aren't taken seriously in this business no matter how great they are_, Elise's voice came back to haunt her. _You could be Chopin re-born, but if you're not a serious professional the critics won't give you the time of day. And if they won't, then you can bet your widening ass that the orchestras, concert halls, music directors, and conductors won't. You've already got one strike going against you; you're a woman. What's worse, you're a cute but not beautiful woman. Son Rui's only where she is because her mother promoted the hell out of her when she was a cute little kid and pestered the industry leaders until they had to listen to her just to get that demanding bitch out of their offices. And Rui's _still_ not as well accepted as some of her male peers with less than half her talent!_

_So no, you can't be the real Nodame when you're out there in public. In private you can be Jack the God-damned Ripper for all I care, but in public you'll be a professional! You'll walk the walk, you'll talk the talk, and you'll _smile_ about it even when you're ready to puke your guts out because the asshole you're being forced to talk to had bad escargot for lunch, smells like the inside of a week old outhouse, and is trying his damnedest to put his grubby, grease-stained hand up your skirt!_

Of course, Elise had been right, and given the current state of things Nodame couldn't afford to be picky. So when outside the confines of her condo or otherwise in private, she had to wear the mask that chafed so badly.

"Only for a little longer," she mumbled beneath her breath.

After about ten minutes, the door to the examination area opened and a young nurse with shining, perfectly managed auburn hair and a smile that any dentist would be proud of beckoned her to follow. Another half hour later she exited the doctor's office, her smile still set firmly in place until she closed the door to her apartment.

Later, it would occur to her that she was very glad that she'd paid for the extra soundproofing.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

_Acciaccatura_

* * *

Acciaccatura – _verb v_.(/əˌtʃækəˈtjʊərə/, Italian: [attʃakkaˈtuːra])

Comes from the Italian verb _acciaccare_, "to crush."

* * *

The sterile white walls and somewhat dingy and used looking equipment surrounding the hospital bed were softened by the recorded sound of a live concert coming from the tiny but dynamic speakers attached to Stresemann's iPod.

"I just knew the damn fool was faking," Shinichi Chiaki mumbled angrily to himself as he ran a frustrated hand through his thick black hair, "again! When will I ever learn that man cannot be trusted? He always has something up his sleeve." Even without seeing the pianist, Chiaki would recognize the unique style of Noda Megumi anywhere. He hadn't heard her performing these particular pieces, but that wasn't surprising. He'd recently done whatever he could to distance himself from her career and performances. Every time he'd heard her playing or seen an article in one of the many newspapers that praised her performances the only thing he could think of was how stupid he'd been.

He'd been so busy, so pressured, so concerned over his own still fledgling career that he hadn't even bothered to truly listen to her when she'd called to tell him that Auclair-sensei had gotten her an introduction to someone in the States by the name of Christoph. What he'd heard in his upset mind was that she was running off to the U.S. to be with a man. He hadn't even considered that the Christoph she was talking about was Christoph Erlichmann, the music director of that country's National Symphony Orchestra. Shinichi doubted that he could have been any more of an idiot if he'd deliberately tried.

By the time he'd realized his error he was spending four days a week in Paris with the Marlet Orchestra and three days a week in Milan or Florence with Vieira-sensei. He was so busy that he had little time to consider his relationship with Nodame, but he assumed she was just having another one of her episodes and would eventually come running back to him, conveniently forgetting that it had always been him that ended up running after Nodame. Between her pride and his, Nodame's was by far the stronger, as was her righteousness since almost every incident of miscommunication between the two had been on his part, not hers.

But not this time. This time he'd pushed all thoughts of that woman out of his mind and focused entirely on his music and his career which were…where exactly? In five years, just what had he accomplished? How had he managed to move forward? The Marlet was doing well, selling out every concert performance. It was once again one of the premier orchestras in France, even if it was still at best second-tier. And at the La Scala his name was listed right beneath Vieira-sensei's. But was this where he'd planned on being five years ago? Is this where he'd imagined himself?

"I'm an idiot."

"You'll get no argument from me on that point," Franz told him from his comfy bed even as a beautiful nurse was blowing him a kiss from the doorway and promising to be back later to give him a sponge bath. "But what, may I ask, is it that has made you finally see the light?"

Shinichi wanted to refute his own and the old man's words, but he just couldn't seem to drag up the initiative. "I was just thinking that I really haven't progressed any in the past five years. I'm still at the Marlet, I'm still apprenticed to Vieira-sensei…and you, old man," he added honestly, "and even though I've done a number of guest appearances, I'm still basically where I was back then. I haven't moved forward at all."

"Well, I believe that's what I was trying to tell you earlier at the hotel," Franz grinned, but it didn't contain its usual bite and malice. This time there was actually a bit of sadness or commiseration involved in that odd smile. "On the other hand," he waved a hand to indicate the music playing on his iPod, "Nodame-chan has certainly made a name for herself."

"I – I wouldn't know," Shinichi mumbled.

"No, you've buried your head so far in the sand that even an ostrich wouldn't be able to find you," the maestro snorted. "Have you been listening to any of this at all?"

"Far too much, sensei," Chiaki mumbled again. "It's …" he couldn't finish. Instead he tried to regain both his equilibrium as well as his pride through haughtiness and anger. "So what?"

"Ah," the bleached-blonde sighed in exasperation. With a finger he fast forwarded the recording to the end of one piece and the beginning of another. Then he sat there for a moment, contemplating before turning and asking his erstwhile protégé a question.

"Chiaki, do you remember the S Orchestra's production of Gershwin's _Rhapsody in Blue_?"

"That silly thing with the pianicas and the cosplay?" He snorted in derision. He utterly refused to think about that damned mongoose costume.

"Didn't you ever wonder who did the arrangement?" Franz asked, a knowing smile on his lips, his stupid eyes twinkling. "I remember, after the concert, you were saying that whoever did the arrangement had done a wonderful job. Didn't you ever figure out who it was?"

It was as if the Earth had stopped rotating for just an instant. Chiaki felt light headed and unable to get his bearings. Everything was topsy-turvy, upside down, backwards, and inside-out. It couldn't be true. It just couldn't! Even that long ago? No! Not…

"And don't you remember that cute little piece she wrote for the children? Tanioka, Etoh, even Auclair, each and every one of them thought it was good. Better than good. Much better than someone at her age and with her limited education in music should have been able to create."

NO! He wouldn't think about it! It simply wasn't possible!

Stresemann pressed Play on the iPod, and what came out of those tiny little speakers was as beautiful, as emotional, as heartbreaking, and as unique as a fingerprint. It wasn't possible.

But it was. It had to be. There was no question in his mind as he listened to the final concerto; the one called _Nocturne_. Nodame's unique stamp was not only in the piano, but in the individual instruments of the orchestra as well. He could hear it. It wasn't possible, but there was no other explanation. Every piece, every note, every stop mark and jump, even the planned dissonances; from piccolo to bassoon, from violin to treble bass, even the timpani, every single bar of the piece screamed out her name. And yet he still couldn't bring himself to say it. All he could do was stand there and shake.

"She wrote and arranged the entire orchestral score herself, one instrument at a time," Franz said softly, forcing Chiaki to pay attention. "Not one single critic, not one single person, has been able to tear it down or find a single fault to complain about. Not even thirty yet, and she's garnering nothing but praise for her very first original composition."

Shinichi shook his head vehemently in denial. He didn't want to hear any more of that wonderful piece, but he just couldn't seem to tear himself away. And that meant he had to stay there and listen to the old goat no matter how much he'd rather run.

_Just like you did five years ago you stupid, pigheaded prick._

"It's too bad that it might also be her last," that same old goat mumbled so quietly that Chiaki would have missed it if he hadn't already been straining to hear the words that he really didn't want to acknowledge.

A cold chill swept down his back and shook him to his core. "What do you mean old man?" he asked, his voice cold and threatening as he spun to glare at the man lying in a stark white hospital bed. "Just what are you trying to say you damned liar? Don't you _dare_ try to tell me…"

"No, no, she's not dying," Stresemann waved away Chiaki's ill-concealed concern, "although she might wish she were," Stresemann sighed, garnering a shocked and almost panicked look from Vieira who had so far remained quietly in the background. Franz looked over at his old friend and gave him a sad nod. Shinichi could literally see his current mentor and friend deflate. "She's sick, and there's no cure." Those dark eyes pierced into him like a lance.

"She has Rheumatoid Arthritis." He said it as if it were a death knell.

And to any professional musician it was the same as or worse than death. RA affected the body's joints, typically the hands and feet, but also the neck. The joints become inflamed, swollen, tender to the touch, and increasing stiffness limits movement and reach. Over time it can move to other joints, affecting them as well. In its advanced stages it can cause deformity of the joints themselves, making them all but useless. And the pain could be excruciating. Shinichi couldn't think of a worse debilitating disease for a pianist. It was a career ender.

"She was diagnosed three years ago. The doctors told her she had to quit music if she wanted to have any chance for a half-way normal life, but you know how well that went over, don't you," he snorted. "She refused. Couldn't stop playing even if she wanted to. Even if her future depended on it. Not if there was even one single chance."

"One chance for what?" Shinichi asked, his own voice barely escaping his taught lips.

"I know you're an idiot, but you're not really _that_ stupid, are you boy?" Franz sniffed angrily. "Do I have to spell it out for you? Well, of course I do. You're too stubborn, too prideful to admit it to yourself. She did it for _you_, you dumb Jap. It was all for you. One roll of the dice in the hope that you'd one day realize just how much she loves you and how much you love her and how idiotic you've been to stay away all these years even after you knew the truth.

"The question is," the aging German Maestro asked in all seriousness, more serious than Shinichi had ever seen him before, "are you going to finally open your ears and eyes and listen to what she's been trying to tell you, or are you going to continue to hide behind your stupid, arrogant pride and let the love of your life slip away again?"

"I," he didn't want to say it. He couldn't say it. But he had to. "I don't know." He dropped his head, unable to face either of his mentors with his weakness bared to the world. Ultimately, he was just a scared little boy, afraid to reach out and grasp onto the one thing in his life that he'd found was more important than his music. More important than his career. More important than his fame and riches. More important than the life he'd dreamed of since he was a small boy and a much younger Sebastiano Vieira had taken him under his wing. How could he tell the man quietly standing in the corner of the room that he'd throw it all away for the love of a single woman?

"Don't be a fool, Shinichi," Vieira told him in probably the most tender voice he'd ever heard the old man use. Sebastiano took a few steps before reaching out to grasp his shoulder. "What is music if you have no one to share it with? What is music if you cannot listen to it by the side of the one you love?" He squeezed his shoulder. "What is _life_, if you spend it alone, knowing all the while that you could have spent it with the one you love and that loves you in return? Don't be a fool, Shinichi."

"Go to her, boy," Stresemann urged him. "You know you want to. You know you _need_ to. You said it yourself, you're stagnant. You've stopped moving. You'll never truly be whole, not without her."

Shinichi wished desperately that he could argue with the men, but he just couldn't. They were right. Shinichi had made his greatest strides with stupid Nodame at his side. They pushed each other, encouraged each other, forced each other to take that next step, make that next leap. When he was with her he'd gone from just one of many piano students to successfully conducting the S Orchestra. It was because of her that he'd somehow overcome his aversion to flying which allowed him to finally leave Japan and move back to Europe. He'd always thought that everything he did, he did for himself. But there was always that tiny little notion in the back of his mind that he wanted to make her proud of him.

Would she be proud of him today? Highly doubtful. While Nodame had, all on her own these last five years, faced the music head-on and taken it to places it had never gone before. Her _Nocturne_ was proof positive that while he had languished, she had risen to the heights that he had been working toward but never achieved.

Yes, he needed her, but not so much for his career; for his life. He was only half a man, half a soul, without that crazy hentai by his side. He needed her, but more importantly, he wanted her. As crazy and foolish as it sounded, he _wanted_ Nodame.

"Where is she?" he asked.

"Where else," Franz shrugged. "Tokyo."

-oo-

It hurt. It hurt so much! During his examination, the doctor had twisted and turned her poor hands and fingers until she felt like someone was stabbing red hot daggers between each and every one of her joints. He'd been kind enough to give her a shot of pain reliever to try to help, but whatever it had been it had only barely taken the edge off. Six extra-strength ibuprofen and an hour later she was still curled up on her sofa, whimpering in pain, her red and imflamed hands pulled tightly into her stomach on the off-chance that some pressure and the warmth of her skin might help. She was tempted to take another methotrexate, but she'd already taken one this week and didn't really feel like having all her hair fall out…again.

Nor was she quite yet ready to take that next step to put herself out of her misery. She still had at least one thing left on her plate to do, even if she needed Yadovi's help to do it. Her fascination with all forms of electronic music made Yadovi the perfect co-composer of her suite.

When Nodame had first met the hermit-like composer living in the cluttered attic of her flat in Paris, Yadovi had been trying to compose a piece for the theremin. It had been the haunting melody that had pulled Nodame from her bed and her latest bout of depression in search of that wonderful sound. When they'd finally spoken, Nodame had proudly announced to the blonde girl that she was also a composer and played a bit of her _Moja Moja Suite_ for her. Soon Yadovi had joined her on the theremin, improvising on the fly. Yadovi had even had the audacity to tell Nodame that she'd made a mistake in her own composition. It had only taken one listen to get Nodame to agree that her original Suite still needed work. That afternoon had seen the birth of a friendship and professional collaboration that had lasted years.

And Nodame was now ready to put that collaboration to the ultimate test.

By the time she was finally able to sit up and call in her dinner order it was nearly six in the evening. She made a pot of green tea while she waited for the arrival of her food. This time she hadn't specified what it was she wanted, telling Mr. Wu to just send up what he thought she might like. What she ended up with was a medium sized bowl of miso soup with bits of egg and finely chopped seaweed, a pot of ginger tea, and a large spoon.

"Bless that man," she sighed. "He always knows what I need."

Sitting at the small table just outside her kitchen, she glanced around at the apartment she hadn't seen in over eight months. There wasn't overly much of herself there yet given how new it was to her before she left on her tour; except for the dirty clothes strewn here and there around the large open room that made up most of the interior space. Eggshell white walls and tan carpeting were about as color neutral as you could get. Elise, or more likely Oliver, had hung copies of the posters that had advertised her various performances over the last three year so at least the walls weren't completely devoid of color. He'd also made sure that her pictures of her friends from Japan, France, and the U.S. were prominently displayed on bookshelves, the desk in the corner, a curio cabinet that also held her few awards, a sofa table, and a small table by the entryway that also held an alabaster bowl for her keys to the apartment and the small runabout parked in the garage.

Most of the living space was taken up by her Steinway D, with only a small sitting area for her sofa and a couple of chairs surrounding a low table facing a built-in gas fireplace above which hung a large flat-screen television she wasn't sure had ever been turned on. A sliding glass door led from her piano/desk area out to a wide and spacious balcony overlooking Roppongi Hills Arena and the surrounding area. Finally, there was her very utilitarian desk that held her oversized monitor, a computer keyboard, her laptop computer, and a _very_ customized copy of Sibelius 7 scorewriter software upon which her future rode.

The music files she'd emailed to Yadovi to review, edit, and arrange had been created on that computer. She'd started her project shortly after she'd received the bad news from her doctors with regards to her rheumatoid arthritis. With only a limited amount of time left to her to perform, she realized that she'd need to do something else if she wanted the world to hear the same music that she heard in her head every time she sat down at a piano. Her _Nocturne_ had been composed note-by-note and instrument-by-instrument on that computer. More than anyone else, it had been her friend and companion these past few years, never once griping at her that she was pushing boundaries that shouldn't be pushed.

After today's appointment she knew that she would never actually perform her music herself and would be dependent upon others to make her dream a reality. Her arthritis had progressed too far. She might be able to squeak out another two or three performances before she was forced to officially retire – if they were held relatively soon and she was extremely lucky – but that was all. There would be no concerto in her future, not with sempai, not with anyone. Not after today.

Individual drips of water, constant as a metronome, salted her soup as she hung her head over the bowl.

-oo-

"Nodame…this…this is…"

"Gyabo! It's that bad?" the brunette sighed dispiritedly. Yadovi had called her back around eight o'clock P.M. Tokyo time which, if her math was correct, made it around noon in Paris. Her friend hadn't wasted any time delving into the files she'd sent her. Yadovi had already said that they were 'different,' but now it appeared that they were just too different.

"NO!" came the screech from six thousand miles and eight time zones away. "Nodame-chan, they're not only not bad, they're real good! I mean, really, really good! Once I started getting deeper into your programming it was a real eye opener, but your typed notes on different passages and how they should be played or how they should sound definitely need some work. I mean, what the heck is a 'Puririn'?"

"Eep! She's the fairy in Purigorota. She does magic that sparkles with stars," Nodame laughed with relief. "Basically it means that that particular section should sound more like the twinkling of bells."

"Then why didn't you just say so! Sheesh, Nodame! Not everyone is an otaku like you!"

"I just wrote what made the most sense to me at the time and most closely matched what I was going for," she shrugged. "I figured I'd have to change it at some point in the future once I figured out a decent comparison."

"Well," a soft chuckle came through the phone, "at least it's a lot more understandable than standard music notation. I assume that section would be like chimes?"

"YES! Exactly! Like chimes, or maybe a celesta, but played by the piccolos in a staccato manner," Nodame laughed.

"Spiccato," Yadovi answered her in a way that she understood. "It's a term normally used for stringed instruments, meaning short, light notes, basically bouncing the bow off the string lightly, but I'll add it to the notes. At least it's better than 'Puririn'," the blonde giggled.

"Mukya! Sempai is laughing at me," Nodame pouted, but was happy that her friend understood. It was nice to have at least one person that understood her and with whom she didn't have to wear her professional mask. "You just earned yourself an 'arranged by' credit."

"Oh, please, I'm not anywhere near ready for that kind of publicity. Don't you dare do that to me, Nodame!" Yadovi squeaked.

"Hmm, we'll see. We'll see," Nodame laughed. "So," she quickly got back to business, "when do you think you can have your first cut ready for me?"

"I think, next week?" the older girl replied with a slightly worried tone, "Maybe?"

"The week after next is fine, Yadovi-sempai," Nodame told her friend, nodding even though the other girl couldn't see her, "but any time before that is fine as well. You don't have to rush, but," she sighed, "sooner would definitely be better than later."

"Bad appointment with the doctor today?" Yadovi got straight to the point, being one of only a very few that were aware of Nodame's health issues.

"Yeah," Nodame sighed again, although this time it was more of a whimper. "Pretty bad. I think I'll be lucky to be able to play at all two months from now, maybe less. I'd like to at least try one run-through before I can't play at all."

Yadovi didn't try to give her any trite platitudes, which was nice of her. Nodame didn't need false sympathy. She knew just exactly what her prognosis was. There was no cure. No miracle waiting in the wings. Two months from now, at best, she'd have to give up her piano forever. But with Yodavi's help she still had the possibility for making a difference musically. The older girl might not want the publicity, but she was going to get it. She deserved it for everything she'd done to help Nodame, not only with her music, but with her life as well. If she were asked to name those she truly loved, Yadovi's name would be right at the top of the list.

"Then expect my first cut somewhere the end of next week, Nodame-chan," the electronic wunderkind told her in no uncertain terms. "I'll get it done. I promise."

"Thanks, Yadovi-sempai. I really appreciate it. As usual, you're a real doll and a true friend."

"Ah, Nodame-chan. You're making me blush!"


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

_Rondo_

* * *

Rondo – _n. noun _(ˈrän-(ˌ)dō, rän-ˈdō\)

A musical form in which a certain section returns repeatedly, interspersed with other sections: ABACA is a typical structure or ABACABA.

* * *

Just because he _could_ didn't mean that Shinichi _liked_ to fly. In point of fact, it still scared him, but whatever Nodame had done to him all those years ago had placed some sort of buffer between that fear and his conscious mind. The fear still leaked through, but nowhere near enough to debilitate him the way it had in the past. No more panic attacks, just a healthy fear of flying through the air, thirty-five thousand feet above the ocean, his other nemesis, and traveling at more than eight hundred and fifty kilometers per hour. Logic told him that flying was still the safest mode of transportation in the world. But logic had absolutely nothing to do with the hindbrain that controlled his fears.

As much as he would have liked to leave immediately, there were too many details that had to be taken care of first. Finding a replacement conductor for the Marlet during his absence was the least of his worries. Jean Donnadieu had been his guest conductor for the past few years just as Shinichi had been his. The arrangement had worked out well for them when they had other things to do or wanted to take some time off. Jean didn't even give him grief when he couldn't tell the Frenchman exactly when he'd be returning. Chiaki couldn't, despite his newfound resolve, give voice to the thought that he might not return to Europe. Everything depended upon a certain hentai.

It was very likely that Nodame would slam the door in his face. He wouldn't even blame her if she did so. Their estrangement was completely his fault. His ego, his selfishness, his jealousy, his pride, they all conspired at the same time to trip him up at the worst possible moment. And it had cost him five years of his life. Maybe more if Nodame rejected him out of hand. It was this fear, more so than of flying that caused him to grip the arms of his first-class seat tightly so that he didn't end up biting his nails down to the quick.

"Chiaki-dono, would you care for another glass of wine?" the JAL flight attendant asked solicitously, bending over just enough to be sure to give him a decent look at her cleavage. Her winsome smile promised much more than a drink should he desire it, but he waved away both of her offers with a negligent hand.

"Just a water, please," he responded, after giving the opulent mounds of flesh only a cursory glance before turning away. The flight attendant smiled anyway before heading off to the galley to get him his bottle of water and a glass. In order to forestall any further unwanted offers he put in the ear buds for his phone and turned on the latest downloaded mp3 versions of Nodame's two cds along with the bootleg copy Stresemann had sent him of one of her concerts from her just completed tour.

Each progressive cd punctuated her phenomenal growth. The first had been wonderful, if just a bit stilted, as if Nodame were being forced to hold herself back. The second was even better and the old Nodame habit of jumping and dancing around was back full force even if it wasn't anywhere near as much as she'd done back when the two of them had been together. The third album, the bootleg copy of her latest concert, was the best of the three. It was as if someone had finally given her free rein to express herself, just so long as she stayed within the limits established by the classical music community.

And then there was her _Nocturne_. Even the normally stoic Chiaki couldn't stop a few drips of tears from falling as he listened to her pour her heart out to the world. He knew there was no way he'd be able to bare his soul in the same way. The fact that she could do something like this, and to this perfection, was well beyond anything he could have ever done as a musician. Even as a conductor he stayed true to the original composers even if he put his own flair into the presentation. But Nodame's _Nocturne_ took the rules and strictures of classical composition and bent them in ways that no one had ever conceived before. She didn't break them, it was more like she was the mighty willow, allowing herself to bend in the cyclonic winds of history and critics while still remaining true to herself. This was the true Nodame, and she was only showing it at the very end of her life as a performer. That thought more than anything else caused the tears brought on by her music to multiply.

How many times had he told himself that he'd be happy just as long as he could hear her play? And yet what had he done? He'd cut himself off from her completely for five years. Not once had he gone to see a concert or listened to one of her cds until just recently; until Franz Stresemann, another hentai, had forced Shinichi to look himself in the eye and admit the error of his ways.

How much had he missed? Every bit of Nodame's tremendous growth, for sure. Instead of Chiaki Shinichi being her mentor, it had been a stranger, a foreigner, an American by the name of Christoph Erlichmann that had seen her potential and molded it carefully into what it was today.

"At least he didn't stifle her creativity the way others might have," Shinichi sighed quietly. "He recognized it for what it was even as I did. It was probably Elise that held her back during that first cd. She was always one to plot and connive to garner the greatest sales and revenue. Once Nodame had established herself, Elise loosened up on the reins for the second cd; giving Nodame more of her head so to speak. But with the _Nocturne_ she just let go those reins and let Nodame finally run free."

_Probably because her RA was getting worse. There's no other reason I can think of, not where it concerns Elise. The reason she's left me alone here recently is probably because she was focusing all her energy on Nodame._

Just as she should have done. With the specter of RA hanging over her head, being fast tracked was Nodame's only option. Earning whatever fame and money while she still could. Planning for the future, whatever future that might be. Would she try to stay in music as something other than a pianist? She'd already composed at least one piece on her own, and such a fantastic piece it was. Would she want to be a composer? Could she? What if she couldn't? Depending on how far the disease progressed and how well the medications controlled the symptoms, she'd probably even have difficulties working as a kindergarten teacher. Simply holding a piece of chalk, let alone a child, might be excruciatingly painful at times. It was unlikely she'd be able to play her own pieces, so how would she compose them?

And who would play them?

So many questions with so few answers until he actually saw her, assuming she'd even speak with him after all this time and what he'd done.

"If a fool is worse than an idiot, then maybe I need to pray that she's a fool."

-oo-

The smell of udon, ramen, garlic, and, somewhat surprisingly, fried chicken hit Nodame's nose as soon as she opened the door to the Uraken Chinese restaurant. To her horror she immediately started drooling! She couldn't remember the last time she'd been here, but the feeling of warmth and comfort that immediately enfolded her told her that it had been far too long. The same man with the same silly hat was behind the counter frying up something that smelled heavenly. On the wall above the counter, where all the daily specials were listed, was the Nodame Special of hamburger udon with French bread and a slice of apple pie for dessert.

Over the sound of the stove she could hear a recording of the old S Orchestra's _Rhapsody in Blue for Pianica_. Talk about bringing back memories! While the _Moja Moja Suite_ may have been her first real composition, it was this piece that had been the product of her first arrangement and was still a source of pride for her.

"But that's the reason I'm here, isn't it?" she told herself sternly, stepping fully into the nearly empty restaurant. She'd debated as to whether she'd be better off trying to talk to Mine when the shop was busy, so that they could try to hide away in a corner, or when it was empty so that fewer prying eyes and ears would be there. She'd finally decided on nearly empty and so scheduled her arrival with the start of afternoon classes at the Momogaoka College of Music. Sidling up to the counter she quietly took a seat, enjoying the anticipation of surprising the old man.

"Can I please get a Nodame Special along with a spoon and fork?" she asked, trying hard not to giggle at the broad back turned toward her.

"One Nodame Special with silverware, coming right up!" he called over his shoulder as he slapped a bit of ground beef on the grill, glancing only briefly at his customer. Nodame grinned as she saw him first do a double-take, then wipe his eyes as if he had to be seeing a ghost. It was a hilarious and oddly welcome sight for the twenty-nine year old pianist. "NODAME-CHAN!" he screamed in shock and delight, his mouth turning into one of the widest smiles she'd ever seen.

"How are you, Ryutaro-san?" she laughed.

"Good! Good. Better now that you're back," he laughed heartily. "We've been following your career, of course. Own both your cds. We play them constantly. Mine even got a bootleg copy of your latest tour. Did you really write that last piece?"

Nodame couldn't help but blush at how effusive Ryutaro was being, but nodded in answer to his question.

"Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful; even with the sound of the audience members in the background. Brought tears to our eyes it did, but then I hear that's been one of the constants on your tour. Every article I've read says you've left them crying. One writer even went on and on about how he could feel…" he stopped suddenly and his face turned bright red.

"How lonely the composer must have been feeling," Nodame finished for him so that he didn't have to embarrass himself. "It's all right Ryutaro-san. It's not like I haven't read those articles myself." She shrugged. "And what composer doesn't put some of herself into her music. It is lonely on the road, traveling from city to city with only a few friends beside you," she lied, knowing he knew it as well and hoping he didn't call her on it. "It's not like it was back when we were all in school here at Momogaoka. It's hard, and it's lonely. I just wanted people to understand what it is we go through for them."

The old man smiled sadly and nodded. "Of course, of course. Well, if what I've heard and read mean anything, you more than got your point across, Nodame-chan. It's a very moving piece. You should be proud, I know we are."

"Thank you, Ryutaro-san," she bowed her head slightly. "It does mean a lot to me coming from you, who have been there for me so many times before. More than all the glowing critiques put together."

The two were silent for a few moments, not really knowing what to say or how to go on, until the spitting of the hamburger grease on the grill caught both their attention at the same time. With quiet laughs the somber mood was broken.

"So, what brings you here of all places?" Ryutaro asked as he finely chopped the now cooked hamburger and expertly dished it into a bowl that he then filled with two ladle's-worth of broth, udon noodles, and vegetables from a large pot staying hot on one end of the grill. "Not that we don't love having you of course," he grinned over his shoulder.

"Actually, I came to see Mine and Miki," she replied as he set the large bowl on the counter in front of her and proceeded to lather up a half slice of French bread with butter and sprinkling it with granulated garlic powder, salt, and oregano before flipping it upside down on the grill to fry. "I was hoping to speak to them about the Rising Star Orchestra."

"Ah, well," the old man scratched the back of his neck, then quickly wiped his hands on a towel before answering. "Mine's over at the school teaching classes today, but Miki-chan is upstairs with the little one. Feel free to head up after you've finished your lunch. I'm sure she'll be thrilled to see you."

"Gyabo!" Nodame squeaked loudly. "I had forgotten all about her and Mine's little girl! How's it feel to be a grandpa?" she grinned wickedly before taking a slurping spoonful of the wonderful udon.

"Bite your tongue, Nodame-chan!" Ryutaro chided her with his spatula. "I'm much too young a man to be a grandfather. I'll have you know I'll be her Ojisan until she's at least ten!" He then used that same spatula to flip the bread over to check it before wielding it like a knife to cut it into four identically sized pieces and scooping them up onto a plate that he set down at her left elbow. "Or, well," this time he grabbed his apron and twisted it in his hands, "_maybe_ Ojīsan. I haven't quite decided yet."

"I'm sure you're a wonderful Ojīsan," Nodame chuckled. "Probably already spoiling the kid rotten just like any good grandparent does." She took another bite of the udon. "Lord! This is good!" she moaned. "It's been far too long." It was the old man's turn to preen at her compliments.

"Just for that, it's on the house," he beamed.

"No, don't say that now. Not when I can finally afford it," Nodame shook her head, dropping a couple of thousand yen notes on the counter to cover the cost of the five hundred yen meal. "You took care of me when I was poor, now it's my turn. If you don't want it now, put it away for your old age or into a savings account for your granddaughter's education. With Mine and Miki as parents you know she'll have talent." Reluctantly Ryutaro pocketed the money with a nod of thanks and a wrinkling of the skin at the corners of his eyes as he sheepishly grinned. Nodame was sure it was her mention of his granddaughter's education that had done the enticing, not saving for his old age.

"Hopefully more of Miki-chan's than Mine-kun's," he laughed.

"Thanks a hell of a lot, Pops," came a voice from behind her. Nodame spun to see a much older if no less wiser Mine Ryutaro standing in the doorway, hands on his hips, his bleached blonde hair still with its tint of green and his black eyes sparkling with humor.

"Mukya!" she shrieked before leaping from her stool and running over to her old friend, throwing her arms around his waist and burying her face in his chest. "Mine! You still look like a delinquent!"

"Have to keep up appearances, Nodame," the young man laughed, pulling the pianist into a tight hug and lifting her off her feet. "What would the Rising Star Orchestra be without its brilliantly flamboyant Concertmaster?"

"A good sight better if you ask me," Mine's father groused good naturedly. "You've got a child to consider these days. Do you want her growing up with all her friends thinking you're in a gang or something?"

"But I am, Pops!" the blonde grinned unrepentantly. "A gang of musicians that would beat the pants off any other orchestra in the country!"

"Nothing like a bit of humility," Nodame giggled. "A very little bit."

"Look who's talking," Mine grinned and picked her up again to swing her around. "The Queen of the Night herself."

"Gyabo! I did NOT give myself that stupid name," she yelled, hitting him on the shoulders until he put her down. "Blame the stupid critics for coming up with a stupid name like that."

"Sorry! Sorry," Mine laughed, holding his hands up in surrender as her already light punches slowed down.

"Stupid critics," she griped again.

"What is all the noise down here!" a feminine voice arose from behind this time. "I just got the little one down for her nap. If you all don't shut up…" black eyes widened in shock as Nodame turned around to find her friend Miki Kiyora, Mine's wife, standing in the doorway that led to the upstairs apartment. "Nodame? Is that really you?"

"Hey ya, Miki," Nodame grinned and waved. "Sorry if we disturbed your daughter." She was answered by a squeal of delight and the sight of the black haired violinist flying across the room and into her arms.

"NODAME!"

"I missed you too, Miki," the only person with brown hair in the room snuggled into her friend's arms.

For the first time since she stepped off the plane from Athens, Nodame felt like she was finally home.

-oo-

"You want to hire the RS orchestra?" Mine asked in a confused voice. "Isn't it usually the other way around? The orchestra hiring the soloist?"

"Maybe it's a bit backwards," Nodame grinned, "but given what I'm asking, it's only fair."

"And what exactly are you asking?" Miki asked with a slight grin.

The three were now in the kitchen of apartment above the restaurant. Teacups filled with green tea sat before each of them along with a plate of almond cookies from which Mine was snacking, doing his best to show his wife how much he appreciated her baking. Either that or he was doing his best to try and gain five kilos for some odd reason. Nodame took one of the cookies and gave it a try. Two seconds later it was gone and she was reaching for another. _Now I know why_, she giggled, taking another bite and purposely setting it down on the edge of her saucer before answering.

"I want to produce a concert for an unknown composer. The music has all the earmarks of classical, but then goes beyond the boundaries that society and the critics have forced onto us."

"Why don't you just say that it's your own compositions, Nodame-chan," Miki smiled at her. "You're certainly not unknown, not after your _Nocturne_. And you've always pushed the boundaries of convention."

"Not to this point," Nodame chuckled as her cellphone started ringing. She pulled it out took a quick look at the caller id, then slid it open so that it was on speaker. "Yadovi-sempai, it's nearly four here, what time is it there?" she asked.

"Screw the time difference, Nodame-chan!" her friends frustrated voice was coming through loud and clear. "It's early, around eight, but that doesn't matter. What matters is, in your notes concerning the solo concerto break, what the heck does 'Moogya' mean!?"

It took her a moment of thought, but then Nodame broke out laughing. "Sempai, have you ever heard of Larry Fast and his Synergy Project?"

"Hey, electronica wizard here! His _Sequencer_ album was epic! But what's that got to do with…wait…you don't mean…"

"Yup," the pianist/composer chuckled. "Even though it's a solo passage, I want a Moog synthesizer playing the counterpoint in the background, but it has to be so soft it's barely heard, sort of like those low sound waves that people can feel in their bones but not really hear. Understand?"

"Now I do! I was wondering what the second set of lines was for. At first I was thinking you were doing some kind of piano duet, like Mozart's Sonata for Two Pianos in D Major, but it just didn't sound right. You know, you've got some really crazy stuff happening here, right?"

"Wait, a Moog synthesizer!?" Mine gulped. "I don't know anyone that plays the synth!"

Nodame laughed again. "Who else did you think I'd trust to play it?" she told the two sitting next to her with a nod toward the phone sitting on the table.

"What!? Wait! No way, Nodame!" Yadovi squealed. "I've never played in public!"

"Then it's about time you did, don't you think Yadovi-sempai. You can't hide in your room all the time. You're too good for that and you know it. Not just as my arranger, but as a musician as well. I mean really, who did you think would play the theremin in the second piece? Shueh-li Ong?"

"At least she could play both the theremin _and_ the synthesizer," came the disgruntled response from Paris.

"And so can you, sempai," Nodame sighed. "How many times do I have to tell you? You're a heck of a lot better than you give yourself credit for. So along with the arrangement you'd better get practicing. I'll have your plane ticket ready for you when everything's set up on this end."

"You're not going to let me get out of this, are you," the older girl pouted, bringing smiles to the three in Tokyo.

"Nope," Nodame answered resolutely, "and, Yadovi-sempai," her voice dropped to a much softer tone, "practice quickly."

"I will, Nodame," was the unexpected but very welcome response. Nodame hadn't thought her friend would give in so quickly, but maybe playing the pity card had helped. It was a cheap shot, but Nodame wasn't going to let anyone else perform those pieces on those instruments and she'd use every weapon in her arsenal to ensure that she got what she wanted.

"Thank you, Yadovi," she murmured before hitting the End icon.

"Nodame-chan?" Miki asked gently, reaching out to lay her hand atop the pianist's.

The brunette took a deep breath before she spoke.

"RA."

It was all she had to say.

Yes, she'd play the pity card and every other card she had in her deck if it would just see her through this. The looks of horror and pity were exactly as she'd anticipated.

After that revelation, the only things that needed to be worked out were the details.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

_Affannato_

* * *

Affannato - _adj_ (/affanˈnato/)

Anguished

* * *

As soon as Shinichi walked out of the international arrivals section of the airport he was met by a very tall and very intimidating German with a bald head, arms crossed over his chest, and a glare that said more than words just how much Chiaki disgusted him. And he couldn't blame Oliver one bit. He'd spent a good portion of the past fifteen and a half hours of flight time thinking pretty much the same thing. Still, he wasn't going to let either of their feelings get in the way. Not again.

"I know, Oliver. I'm an insensitive idiot, but I love her and I want to be with her. So, all I need to know from you is, are you going to help me or hinder me?" he asked of the angry German. The two stood staring at each other, neither backing down, for nearly three minutes before the big man finally responded.

"If you hurt her again, I swear, you won't be able to run far enough, fast enough, to escape me."

"Oliver, if I hurt her again," Shinichi nodded, "you won't have to search for me at all. I'll be waiting for whatever you want to dish out, because I'll deserve it."

"Just so we understand each other," Oliver nodded his agreement, his glare receding into something much softer and, if possible, even more profoundly emotional. "That girl is like a daughter to me. I couldn't bear to see her hurt again, not with what she's already going to have to endure."

"Maestro Stresemann, told me," Shinichi looked down with a grimace. "What's she going to do?"

"Nodame is Nodame," Oliver shrugged. "What else would she do but play as long as she can before going out with a big bang. And when she does, whatever it is, it'll be memorable."

"Can you take me to her?"

"No, not yet," the big man said, shaking his head. "It's too soon. You show up on her doorstep without any warning and she'll slam the door in your face. You'll have to work up to it. I'd suggest starting with Mine-kun. Nodame and he, along with his wife, have been working together for about a week on whatever it is she's planning."

Shinichi hadn't really expected any different answer and agreed that simply showing up at her apartment wasn't the right thing to do, but if she was planning on using Rising Star as her final platform there was a way. Mine and Miki were more Nodame's friends than his, but he was close enough to the both of them to hopefully get close to Nodame again.

"Also, she has a concerto with the Tokyo Phil this Saturday where she'll be performing Gershwin's Concerto in F Major. I've got a ticket for you, back row center." Oliver reached into his pocket and handed over a small envelope containing the ticket. "Don't try to see her before or after the concert, but you should be able to tell how far her disease had progressed."

"The Gershwin has a narrower range than most," Shinichi put a hand to his chin in thought. "The stretches aren't as wide either, if memory serves. Technically challenging, but nothing beyond her capabilities, or at least what her capabilities used to be. It's also right in the middle of her usual repertoire. It's a good choice…probably. That was one of the things I noticed in her _Nocturne_. Very technically challenging as well as emotive, but the stretches aren't overly strenuous; nothing more than an octave and that only a few times."

"So, you noticed," Oliver said as he grabbed Chiaki's bag from his hand and turned to lead him out to the car, "but still, I bet you cried."

"You'd win that bet," Shinichi grumbled in chagrin, not wanting to admit even that much, but needing to at least, or at last, be honest with himself. "Of course I cried. It's impossible not to." He looked up into those dark eyes, seeing the emotion held so tightly in check. "After all, I was the one that caused it."

Oliver didn't say a word, didn't even nod, but Shinichi knew the bigger man agreed with him. It was impossible for him not to. Because after all is said and done, it was Shinichi's fault, to his everlasting shame. Every single bit of loneliness, pain, and suffering that was Nodame's _Nocturne_ could be laid at his feet. As much as he might wish to, there was no way to go back and change the past. All he could do was try to somehow make it up to her moving forward. And that's what he was determined to do. To try to make things right somehow. Whether she forgave him or not, he was bound to try to reduce her suffering.

No matter what it might take.

-oo-

A small whimper of pain wafted from the closed door to Nodame's dressing room backstage at Bunkamura Concert Hall. It had been forty minutes since she'd taken the 800 mg of ibuprofen and the Vicodin tablet that would hopefully see her all the way through the Gershwin. Yet even through the Vicodin's opiates she could still feel the pain as she stretched out the ligaments and tendons in her wrists, hands, and fingers in preparation for nearly thirty-five minutes of playing.

"Please, just a couple more concerts," the brunette whimpered. "Or even just one more. Just that one. Please."

-oo-

She'd been at Haneda International Airport nearly an hour ahead of the scheduled arrival time for Yadovi's flight from Paris. Rather than bother Elise or Oliver, she'd driven herself and parked in the short-term parking lot. It was the first time she'd driven in Tokyo and while it wasn't necessarily the worst traffic she'd ever encountered it certainly wasn't the best either. Tokyo drivers were more like Parisians or Italians than Americans. It was more like a game of chicken with multiple contestants than it was a true demolition derby, but it was a close thing which was why she'd decided to leave early to pick up her friend and fellow musician.

Because she was there early she watched from a row of plastic seats, her hair hidden by a hat and her eyes by sunglasses as Oliver walked up to the international arrivals section to greet someone she hadn't seen in five years.

_Chiaki-sempai._

Her heart started hammering in her chest as she watched that handsome man walk from the arrivals section to stand before the much taller German. They'd spoken a bit, with Oliver looking like he was ready to kill at first and Chiaki looking like he was ready to let him. That had been almost as surprising as seeing her old love in the first place. Whatever they'd said to each other they'd eventually left together on better terms with Oliver taking Chiaki's bag after handing him an envelope of some sort. Nodame didn't know what to make of it all except that her wildly beating heart and sweaty hands were telling her that she still wasn't truly over the arrogant, egotistical conductor no matter how much her head tried to say otherwise.

_Stupid, stupid Nodame._

Another half hour saw the plane from Paris land and then another half hour saw the slender, blonde Yadovi finally exiting the arrival area with her roll-on bag in one hand, a heavier bag in the other, and her passport in her mouth. Nodame quickly intercepted her friend, plucking the passport from between those pearly white teeth so that the two could share squeals of delight, hugs, and kisses on the cheek, likely scandalizing all of the Japanese in the waiting area, but she couldn't have cared less.

"I still can't believe I let you talk me into this, Nodame," Yadovi pouted cutely as the two made their way out to grab a porter to help the smaller woman with her bags since there was no way Nodame, with her hands, would be able to assist.

"It'll be good for you, Yadovi-sempai," Nodame countered with her infectious smile. "You needed to get out of that stuffy attic and onto a stage for once. I know you were a composition major at the Conservatory, but you're also a premier musician when it comes to electronic instruments. No one can get the kinds of music from a theremin that you can, and you're better on the synthesizer than anyone else I know."

"Oh, like you know so many synth players," the blonde scoffed as she gratefully handed off her bags to a man that proceeded to follow them out to the parking lot.

"You'd be surprised just who I've met," Nodame told her with a wagging finger. "Between the people I met while I was in the States and those I met while on tour, I now know three synth players and two theremin players besides yourself; all professionals. I've heard them all play and none of them hold a candle to you, Yadovi."

"Then your ears must be shot along with your hands," the cute Parisian argued, but not strenuously. Neither did Nodame take the mention of her affliction in the wrong way. In fact, she laughed at the other girl's half-hearted attempt at humor.

"My ears are fine and you know it, Sempai. So don't give me that," her brown eyes then turned to gather in her friend's, "and you really can't understand how much I appreciate your doing this for me," she added in her most sincere and honest voice. "If I'm going to be allowed one last concert after this one with the Phil, then I want it to be surrounded by my friends."

"No fair playing the guilt card, Nodame," Yadovi chided her, but the look of sorrow in her eyes told the pianist that she'd have come anyway. Yadovi then glanced up at the car Nodame was leading her to and started laughing.

"Hey! Don't laugh! I told Elise to buy me a little runabout that could get me from Point A to Point B. I expected her to get me a Tercel or Corolla, not a stupid Mercedes C230! So don't blame me if our definitions of a runabout differ."

"Ah, but it's so cute!" Yadovi squealed over the little white coupe.

Nodame rolled her eyes and hit the button that would open the rear hatch so that the porter could put the bags in the back.

-oo-

That had been four days ago. Now it was time to pay the price for ditching the permanent conductor of the Tokyo Philharmonic after her last concert. Elise had tried hard to get Nodame to agree to even more performances, but the pianist knew that this would likely be her last before her final, farewell performance with the RS Orchestra given the amount of pain she was having to endure just to get through this one night.

"I knew I should have chosen a shorter concerto," she groused at herself as she rubbed a menthol-based cream into her fingers and palms, making sure that it was completely absorbed into the skin so that her fingers didn't slip on the keys.

Her performance was the first piece to be performed after the intermission and from the sound coming from the speakers piping in the concert being conducted in Bunkamura's Orchard Hall she had about fifteen or twenty minutes to complete her preparations. She was already dressed in her best dark green gown with a matching choker around her neck. Her makeup, which she'd finally learned how to apply after so many years of screwing up, was perfect as was her hair, so she slipped on her low, dark brown heels and made her way to the warm-up piano squirreled away in a specially prepared waiting area backstage. Fifteen minutes of what she called her own brand of kata consisting of scales, arpeggios, and songs chosen specifically to extend her flexibility and stretch, and with the Vicodin finally kicking in at full strength she was ready.

-oo-

There was no other way to describe it.

The clear, precise notes danced brightly in the air, swirling and twirling and daring the audience not to join in the cavorting gambol that was Nodame's Gershwin. It was absolutely breathtaking.

It had been nearly five years since Shinichi had last heard Nodame play live, yet it felt like a hundred. As if his soul had been starved of sustenance for that entire period, it lapped up the pure, spritely music. Tears ran unheeded down his cheeks as he finally realized what it was that he had thrown away so long ago. It wasn't just her music, nor even the way she pursed her lips and closed her eyes as she played. Nor the way she flipped her hands up with such grace before once again bringing fingertips to keys that were just begging to do her bidding. It wasn't just the way that her own seemingly unlimited potential for progress pushed him harder and harder to try to catch up with her.

It was all that and more that he'd foolishly and egotistically thrown away.

It was his own heart.

How could he have ever been so blind as to think that he didn't need Nodame; didn't want her by his side always? No, not her by his side. It was he that wanted and needed to be by _her_ side. It had always been that way. He'd always had it backward, from the very beginning. He realized it now. It had never been about selfishly keeping her with him. It had always been, should have been, about doing everything in his power to stay next to her.

Upon the final notes, as the audience was swept into a roaring standing ovation, Shinichi Chiaki slipped unnoticed from his seat and out the back door of the twenty-five hundred seat concert hall.

"You heard?" came the deep, easily recognizable voice with its German accent.

"I heard," Shinichi nodded, not bothering to wipe the tears from his eyes. "One, maybe two more performances, but that's all. No more or the RA will begin to really affect her playing. God, how could I have been so…"

"We're all human, Chiaki-san," Oliver sighed in a tone that actually seemed to show a gentleness that was uncommon for him, at least to Shinichi. "We all make mistakes. It's what we learn from them and how we move forward that determines who we really are. That shows the true character of our hearts. So, what are you going to do now?"

"Now?" Shinichi smiled sadly up at the taller man. "Now I'm going to go see Mine and Miki. I'm going to get on my knees and beg them to let me conduct that final concert. And maybe, just maybe, if I'm very, very lucky, she won't throw me off the stage."

"Then you'll need this," Oliver said while holding out a USB drive. "It's a copy of her pieces that she'll be having the RS play; both the data and the mp3 files. You'll need to get yourself a copy of Sibelius 7 if you don't already have a copy."

"How?" Shinichi couldn't even imagine how Oliver could have gotten something like this as he took the precious piece of plastic and slipped it into his jacket pocket.

Oliver just grinned, nodded, and turned and walked away with a wave of a hand over his shoulder saying, "Just get to work. You don't have much time."

"I know, Oliver," Chiaki sighed. "I know."

-oo-

_Noda Megumi: Queen of the Night_

Tokyo – With the release of her third CD, _Queen of the Night_, classical pianist Noda Megumi has further solidified her place as one of the preeminent artists in the music world today. While first day sales numbers (as reported by Oricon) are nowhere near the record set last year by Pony Canyon's _Ho-kago Tea Time_ mini-album, the number of CDs flying off the shelves broke the fifty thousand unit mark – a rarity on the classical music charts – and it is currently estimated that the album will easily hit No. 1 on the mixed chart by week's end.

The seven tracks on the more than 90 minute album are selections from her most recently completed world tour and truly are _live_ performances, not the digitally enhanced studio remixes we've been forced to endure recently when a purportedly live album has been released. As a result, listeners are treated to a performance that transports them into seats in some of the greatest concert halls of Europe and North America.

The first track, Mozart's _Variations on "Ah vous dirai-je, Maman_, starts off the evening's feast as a light, twinkling (pun not intended) appetizer that uniquely prepares the palette for track two, an even brighter and satisfying rendition of Ravel's _Jeux d'eau_. From there we are served up more robust and delightful portions of Chopin, Rachmaninoff, Liszt, and Schubert. Ms. Noda's well-earned reputation for lifting her audiences to the heights of joy is well represented by her choice of performance pieces, any one of which is sure to lift the spirits of the most taciturn. Yet, it is the last track on the CD that genuinely sets her apart from the rest of the crowd and cements her place in history.

_Nocturne_ is Ms. Noda's application to join the rarified world of classical composers and, if this reviewer's opinion means anything, she has more than satisfied the stringent requirements for admission. I once had the singular opportunity to interview Ms. Noda and asked her opinion of those reporters and editors that had begun to liken her to those we consider to be masters of the craft: Mozart, Chopin, Beethoven, etc. Her two word answer ("_They're idiots_") spoke volumes about her personality and strength of character. She sincerely believes that she is far beneath those to whom she has been (in my own opinion, rightfully) compared. Whether you consider her a true genius or a one-hit wonder, there is no ignoring the fact that Noda Megumi's _Nocturne_ will be straining the heartstrings of avid concert goers for decades, nay, centuries to come. Just be sure to bring along a handkerchief or two.

If there is any sour note at all in this scenario it is the surprising lack of autograph and handshaking events that typically accompany the release of any new CD. I personally own autographed copies of her first two CDs and was hoping to extend my collection with this release, but I'll have to find some other way to obtain that elusive prize. Rumor and speculation are rampant within the industry as to why Ms. Noda has foregone the usual (some might claim mandatory) promotional events and even, if word on the street is correct, turned down numerous requests for television interviews. While she has never been much of a public figure, this new reclusiveness is odd even for this artist.

Instead, the first fifty purchasers of her CD at music outlets around the country were rewarded with a free copy of the DVD of the concert tour; an item which reputedly won't be available for purchase for another two or three months. (Yes, I got my copy.) While bundling freebies with new releases to encourage sales is certainly nothing new, it is unique in our little corner of the music world and only raises questions as to why her producers took this route rather than the normal public events. If her recent performance of Gershwin's _Piano Concerto in F Major_ with the Tokyo Philharmonic is any indication, her skills certainly are not at issue. So rumor and speculation will continue to run rampant and, if the sales numbers are any indication, likely fuel CD and DVD sales for months to come. Maybe that was the intent all along?

Either way, one thing is for sure. No collection of classical music will be complete without a copy of Noda Megumi's _Queen of the Night_. Be sure to get yours today.

-oo-

"I still say they're all idiots," Nodame sniffed as Elise finished reading aloud yet another over-the-top review of her newest album. She, her business manager, and her friend Yadovi were sitting around the dining room table in her apartment the day after the CDs release, newspapers spread over its pristine hardwood top, trying to enjoy cups of tea and coffee while Oliver stood in her kitchen whipping up a breakfast of scrambled eggs and bacon. While she may have finally learned how to do her makeup correctly, the art of cooking still frustratingly continued to elude Nodame.

"They may be idiots," her blonde manager scoffed, folding up and setting aside one newspaper only to pick up another to scan, "but it's those idiots that can make or break you with a single critical article. They're a large part of why you'll be a very wealthy woman by this time next year," the older woman scolded her.

"Elise-san, you know it's never been about the money," Nodame sighed, absentmindedly stirring her green tea.

"Maybe not for you," the bespectacled woman stabbed an accusing finger at her, "maybe not now, but you'll appreciate all that money when you're in your dotage."

"And your fifteen percent cut has absolutely nothing to do with that look of avarice in your eyes," Nodame laughed softly.

"Unlike you, I am in it for the money, Nodame-chan. I never claimed otherwise," Elise said almost proudly, eliciting another chuckle from her star talent.

"This one likens you to a modern day Shostakovich," Yadovi giggled, shaking her head. "If they only knew."

"Says the girl whose idol is Wendy Carlos," Elise laughed.

"Hey! Her _Switched-On-Bach_ is credited for introducing classical music to entirely new generations. Don't be carping on my Wendy-kin!"

"Heaven forefend," Elise laughed heartily.

It was nice, having her friends around her like this. It had been far too long since she'd been able to spend time simply relaxing in the company of people she cared about. She glanced up to see Oliver's smiling face watching her. She gave him a grin and a nod, letting him know she was happy and doing fine; at least this morning. The smell of the frying bacon was even enough to temporarily override the odor of menthol rising from her hands.

"So, can we tell Yamanobe at Suntory that we'll be accepting his invitation?" Elise asked from her seat across the table, her eyes sparkling with desire. Nodame hated to dim those bright lights, but she had no choice in the matter.

"No," she shook her head sadly and stretched her hands out in front of her face, glaring at them as if they were her worst enemies rather than her dearest friends. "From what I've been able to handle these past three weeks, I've only got one more performance in me, Elise, and that a short one."

"Have you decided which piece you'll be doing at the concert with RS," Yadovi asked softly, not bothering to hide the sadness in her voice.

Nodame chuckled, setting her hands down flat on the table for a moment to stretch out the tendons and wincing at the resulting twinges of pain.

"What else could it be, Yadovi-sempai," she smiled sadly, looking up at her dear, dear friend and wishing she could give her any other answer than the one she had to give.

"It has to be the _Requiem_."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

_Requiem_

* * *

Requiem – _n. noun_ (ˈre-kwē-əm)

1. A mass for a deceased person.

2. A musical composition for such a mass.

3. A hymn, composition, or service for the dead.

* * *

The third movement of Nodame's _Requiem_ is actually a combination of the three final common texts of the Catholic Requiem Mass: the Pie Jesu, the Libera Me, and the In paradisum. Totaling only seventeen minutes, it was as much as she felt she could give without taking a chance on her hands betraying her and destroying what was supposed to be her final triumph and farewell as a musician.

By properly taking her medications, resting, exercising and stretching, and practicing sparingly, Nodame had been able to complete three full run-throughs of the piece with the Rising Star Orchestra, Yukihisa Matsuda conducting. In fact, there were a number of her old friends that had returned to the RSO upon learning that Nodame was involved in the upcoming concert. Even with those "old-timers" rejoining for this performance, the average age of the musicians was only twenty-four years old.

"This is such a really fantastic idea," Yadovi told her one day after rehearsals were complete and Nodame was soaking her hands in warm water. "I mean, there are so many really talented musicians graduating from conservatories all over the world that won't have a chance of getting a job simply because of the limited number of orchestras and seats available. What Mine-kun has done here is just phenomenal. I wish I could do something similar in Europe, but most people in power are simply too conservative for something like this to happen."

"In Paris, I agree with you Yadovi-sempai," Nodame nodded. "In fact, in most of the great cities of classical music creating something like the RSO would be impossible. Everyone with any influence is too hidebound and hemmed-in by 'the rules' of classical composition. But I think somewhere like London is doable. With composers like Edward Elgar, Samuel Coleridge-Taylor, and Andrew Lloyd Webber, the UK has a history of embracing the 'different' and 'unique'."

"Hmm, you're right. Britain is a possibility, much more so than Prague, certainly," the blonde chuckled.

"If I don't go down in flames here in Tokyo," Nodame joined in the soft laughter, "I'd be willing to help out. Face it, if things go better than I anticipate I wouldn't mind having another orchestra willing to take on my own 'unique' form of classical music," she giggled. "And if they don't," she shrugged and grinned, "then I won't have to worry about it, now will I?"

"You'll be worrying about it twenty and thirty years from now, Nodame-chan," her friend told her in all seriousness. "I fully expect to be helping arrange your latest pieces when you're in your eighties."

"Oh! Please! No!" Nodame laughed, pulling her dripping hands out of the water and holding them up, "At least not unless they figure out how to do fully functional hand replacement. I refuse to put up with this for another fifty plus years!" She may have been laughing on the outside, but inside she was sobbing with fear of what was happening to her. The only thing she'd ever had going for her was her music.

Nodame knew she wasn't the prettiest, or wittiest, or shapeliest, or smartest of women. She had no class, was clumsy at best, childish, and had a tendency to violent emotional outbursts. She was far from perfect and had no illusions of what she had to offer a man like her Chiaki-sempai. Without her music, her ability to play, she was nothing. And the RA had even stolen her one-time dream of becoming a kindergarten teacher. Once her ability to play was lost she'd have nothing. Nothing but unfulfilled dreams. Who would want to live decades with no hope of happiness?

She had fifteen more compositions that Yadovi knew nothing about and intended to parcel them out slowly over the next five or ten years, but after that there'd be no reason for her to continue on in a life that was tantamount to daily torture, both physical and emotional. Nodame had already started hoarding her Vicodin. A pill here, a pill there; one or two from each prescription and she'd be ready when the time came.

Nothing of her thoughts showed on her face, otherwise Yadovi wouldn't have been acting as lively as she was. For the first time the theremin and synth player was actually looking forward to the concert and her role in it. She'd even been helping out Mine and Miki with some of the administrative jobs that were always necessary when producing a new concert.

Nodame had been joining the musicians of the RSO three evenings a week for rehearsals since most everyone had day jobs or classes. She didn't always participate as a performer, but she was always there to provide guidance and insight into her works. At least a couple other days each week, Yadovi had been heading out without her to help with printing flyers and programs, ensuring the venue was set up properly, working with the sound technicians to make sure the microphones were set up to record only the very best for the next CD, and any number of the hundreds of other odd jobs that needed to be handled, hoping she could take even a little bit of the pressure off the new parents and let them spend more time with their cute daughter. Nodame envied her. There was so much she would have liked to do if only she could.

"One more week and it'll all be over," Nodame sighed, gratefully setting her hands back in the warm water and feeling the tension slowly ebbing away as a result of the combination of moist heat and anti-inflammatories she'd taken.

"You mean, one more week and your name will be firmly etched into the history books," Yadovi grinned like a Cheshire cat.

"You keep thinking that way," the brunette chuckled. Deciding she'd rather be in a hot tub of water than dipping her hands in a shallow bowl, she dried off and announced her intent to return to the apartment. "You coming?"

"No," Yadovi shook her head, but continued smiling, "I promised Miki I'd babysit for her so that she and Mine could at least have a quiet dinner together."

"Oh? Did you want some company?" Nodame absolutely adored little Saki and would have spent every possible moment with her if it were possible, but there were days when she just didn't have the strength, or the dexterity, or the patience to deal with a hyperactive toddler.

"No thanks," her friend grinned, "you go home and rest up. I know you need it after today. You worked hard, probably harder than you should have, but I know everyone appreciates your efforts, even if they don't know exactly why yet."

With a nod of reluctant agreement, Nodame grabbed her backpack and headed out to the car and the lonely drive home for a date with a bathtub and a painkiller.

-oo-

Yadovi watched and waved as Nodame drove away, making sure to keep the smile plastered on her face until she'd turned the corner and was out of sight. At that point she turned and reentered the rented practice hall, making her way to the auditorium where thirty-five musicians had waited patiently in near silence until their composer had left for the evening.

"She's gone," she yelled out to the group as she walked slowly down the aisle, clapping her hands to grab everyone's attention. "We've got another couple hours to go tonight, so let's make the most of them. We'll only have one shot at this. We've got to make it count!"

"Yes!" everyone on stage agreed with a loud cheer and one horn player yelled, "For Nodame!"

"Chiaki? You ready?" Mine called from his seat as Concertmaster, whereupon Shinichi Chiaki entered from stage left and moved straight to the small podium in the center of the stage.

"As Yadovi said," he told everyone sternly as the blonde ran up the short steps to the stage and made her way to take a seat behind her Minimoog Voyager XL and Taurus 3 Bass Pedals, "we only have one chance to get this right, so let's not waste any time. We'll do one complete run-through of the _Requiem_ and then break it down into its component movements. Rui?" he called out loudly, his nervousness showing in his impatience.

"I'm coming, Chiaki," responded the beautiful, black-haired Chinese pianist who had been happy to take on the job of playing the part of Nodame at the piano during the third movement. "Don't get your panties in a wad! It's not like you need me for the first two movements anyway."

"No, but I need you sitting there at the piano so everyone is familiar with the situation," Shinichi sighed in frustration. "And I need you ready and able to play Nodame's concerto in the third. Can we at least expect that?"

"Not possible," the pianist, a star in her own right, grinned up at him even as his eyes widened in shock. "Nodame is Nodame," she explained as if to a child. "There's no way anyone can take her place. At my very best I'll always be second to her, but with Yadovi-sempai's help on the Moog I'll give it my all so that none of us let her down."

"That's all anyone can ask for," Mine grinned from his seat as first violin and Concertmaster, his wife sitting in the chair next to him. Then, "ALL RIGHT EVERYONE!" he yelled out. "ONE MORE TIME, FOR NODAME!"

"FOR NODAME!" came the resounding cheer from every voice in the hall.

Yadovi couldn't help the wide grin that split her face as each and every person pledged their utmost to making her friend happy. Her eyes moved from the still cheering Mine to the now smiling Chiaki. _Please Lord, let her find her happiness_, she prayed as the baton rose.

"All right everyone, from the top!"

_After everything she's been through, and everything she still has yet to go through, if anyone deserves even a little shred of happiness, it's Nodame._

-oo-

Chiaki was sitting in his hotel room going over his concert score one last time, trying to glean just one more little bit of information from it. What he was having the hardest time wrapping his head around was the fact that Nodame had penned nine pieces, over two hours-worth when you add the intermission into the mix, of music that wasn't on a par with her old _Moja Moja Suite_. What he held in his hands was literally light-years beyond that old piece of music which, when he thought about it, was really only about six or seven years old. To imagine, to admit just how far she had come in such a short space of time was tantamount to admitting just how far he himself had fallen behind.

The harsh snap of his breaking pencil was the only sound in the room as he finally came to the conclusion that maybe, just maybe, she was too good for him.

His mother had always told him that Nodame was his angel and that he should keep her close. He should have listened harder.

With a groan he stood and walked over to the stereo system he'd purchased so that he could listen to the digitally encoded version of Nodame's music. It didn't have anywhere near the richness he'd been hearing from the orchestra for the past two weeks, but even in this form he could feel the emotion pouring through the speakers. None of the pieces were similar to her _Nocturne_. They were all bright, airy, playful things that could and did in the next instant become cold, lonely, and mournful. Each and every piece followed the standard conventions of classical music, up to a point. Then they blasted through those conventions as if they were wisps of rice paper to drag the listener kicking and screaming into the present and future and yet, in the end, desperately wanting _more!_

Shinichi was more than familiar with the works of the greats of symphonica. No one in his industry could discount the raw talent of a Larry Fast, a Rick Wakeman, or a Keith Emerson. _Sequencer, Metropolitan Suite, Piano Vibrations, The Six Wives of Henry the VIII, Lisztomania, Tarkus, Pictures at an Exhibition, Brain Salad Surgery,_ each and every one was a masterpiece of its craft. But when you fuse that with Mozart and Chopin, Beethoven and Rachmaninoff, Ravel and Debussy, Copeland and Gershwin? Taking the very best of everything and then putting a spin on it in a way that only a hentai like Noda Megumi could?

It wasn't perfect, nothing was, but any critical listener would be forced to acknowledge and deal with what was essentially a new movement in music, an era that was long in coming and would be ushered in not by some pretentious composer with visions of grandeur, but by a simple young woman from Kyushu, Japan.

Did he dare try to become part of that? Did he deserve to? No. Certainly not. But did he want to? Oh, yes, he certainly did. Not because of the music, but because of the composer, that simple woman from Kyushu that had so many years ago, without his even noticing it, stolen his heart and forever refused to give it back. He wanted to truly _live_ again, rather than simply survive as he had been doing for the past five years. And in order to do that he needed to somehow, someway, beg, steal, or otherwise worm his way back into her life.

He'd begged Mine and Miki and gotten their grudging permission to conduct the final concerto that Nodame would be performing. He'd stolen – or rather Oliver had stolen for him – the USB drive of original recordings that was even now playing on his stereo system. All that was left was to grovel like the worm he was and hope that she might somehow find it within herself to forgive him.

And this time he wasn't going to run away when things got rough. This time he'd actually listen to every word Nodame said, and if he didn't' understand he'd ask her to explain it to him. He wouldn't make assumptions. He wouldn't jump to conclusions. He wouldn't think that it was her responsibility to change to fit within his world. It was his turn to change and try to fit within hers.

The first movement of _Requiem,_ the Pie Jesu, started with one, lonely violin crying in the night, begging the Lord Jesus to please let them rest, to let them seek their everlasting rest. The second movement, the Libera Me, asks God to grant His mercy at the time of judgment and to shine His light upon them. The third movement, the In paradisum, asks that the dead be welcomed with open arms by the angels of Heaven and granted eternal rest. Knowing what he did, Nodame's _Requiem_ was anything but a subtle statement of her intent. The question was, just how far was she planning on taking her "retirement" from music.

It was at this point in the concert that Nodame would be sitting quietly at her piano, listening and watching, waiting for the start of the third movement to begin her performance…and very likely staring daggers at him when instead of Yukihisa Matsuda, Chiaki Shinichi comes on stage and is handed the baton.

His greatest fear was that she'd simply stand up and walk off the stage as soon as he appeared. He didn't think that even Nodame would go quite that far, not when it was her music that was at stake, but he still bowed his head and prayed to whatever gods might be listening to please, please, give him this one chance to make things right.

-oo-

Once again Elise had situated herself in the mezzanine just before the start of the concert. The bespectacled business manager knew that the audience's reaction was paramount to whether this experiment in insanity was going to make or break her girl. There was already some modest speculation as to the purpose of the two electronic instruments in the middle-right section of the stage. The whispers she was hearing from regular audience members, so far, didn't worry her overmuch. On the other hand, the scrunched up foreheads of the three magazine and newspaper critics sitting in the seats directly beneath her perch worried her just a little bit. The blonde crossed her fingers and spoke softly into the wireless headset she was wearing.

"So far so good, Franz. At least no one's pointing at the Moog and laughing."

"You worry too much Elise," came Stresemann's soft, chuckling reply from his own hiding place backstage. "You haven't heard what I have over the past week. I promise you, after the opening two minutes no one's going to be laughing."

"It's that good?" the blonde whispered aghast.

"Elise, have some faith in our little girl. I admit it surprised me when I heard it the first time, but it didn't even take a second hearing for it to grow on me. I was a believer before the end of the first piece. Yes, it's that good. I'm going to have to give some serious thought to taking this show on the road. Not with this orchestra of course, but the Royal Philharmonic, or the LSO, maybe New York, Christoph doesn't know what he gave up when he let Nodame slip away from him."

"You're absolutely sure, Franz? I mean, you know everything depends on this one night."

"I'd suggest you take your panties off now, Elise," the old man laughed. "You won't want to get them wet."

Elise shook her head, trying to decide whether she was disgusted…again…with the old fart or maybe, just maybe, he might be onto something.

The house was full, a butt in every seat and even one or two standing at the back of the theater. At precisely eight o'clock the lights dimmed and the audience settled down as the orchestra made its way on stage, the only notable absence being the musician playing those two oddly placed electronic instruments. Franz had told her that the synthesizer and theremin wouldn't come into play until the third piece, but it was still a bit odd for the position to be left unfilled at the start of the concert.

For once Mine wasn't acting the showman. Everyone was dressed in black tuxedoes or floor-length gowns.

"He doesn't need showmanship with this one, Elise," she heard Stresemann's smile over her headphones and wondered if he really had been reading her mind. "I'd suggest you take your seat." Elise looked over to stage right just in time to see the grin beneath that head of dyed blonde hair standing in the wings. So no, he hadn't read her mind, only her surprised features. Still, she took his advice and sat in the single fold-out chair that had been set up for her in the very corner. "Good girl," Franz told her. "Now, close your eyes. You don't need to see, just listen and feel."

"Old man, if you think you're going to trick me,"

"Close your eyes, Elise," he told her again using that serious tone he so rarely used. "Just trust me."

She closed her eyes as Mine played a long, slow, soft A on his violin and the rest of the orchestra matched him. Behind her eyelids she saw the lights come up on the stage and heard the applause as Yukihisa Matsuda entered from stage right and shook Mine's hand. A couple of moments later she heard a soft, rhythmic tapping of a baton on the podium. Then…

By the time the first piece had been completed Elise knew that Franz hadn't just been being his horny old self.

She desperately needed to change her underwear, it was that good. She prayed no one had heard her moan. Unfortunately she could hear Franz smirking laugh in her headphones and knew she'd never, ever live this night down.

_We're going to make so much freaking money!_

-oo-

Shinichi sat in the conductor's dressing room listening to the concert being piped in over the old speakers and wished for the hundredth time in the last hour-and-a-half that the building's management had spent more on the internal sound system. He knew he was missing nuances he'd never hear again, not even if he bought the CD, but it was better than blowing his cover and, potentially, blowing everything out of the water.

He knew from Yadovi that Nodame would be wearing the black gown she'd become famous for, the one with the short, puffy sleeves and the high, lace neck. No jewelry would be adorning her, not even earrings. She never wore anything that might cause her to lose her concentration in the middle of a concert. In preparing for this night he'd done just as thorough a job of researching the composer as he had any of his previous engagements; probably more. He'd spent the past month gathering and analyzing every bit of information he could find, both public and private, of Nodame's life over the past five years.

Chiaki already knew just about everything he needed to about the woman before he'd idiotically left her in her greatest hour of need to return to Italy. Chiaki had interviewed everyone in her life that had been willing to speak with him. He had reams of notes detailing just how totally he'd screwed up not just Nodame's life, but his own as well. From Elise and Oliver he learned of the weeks and months she'd cried even after she'd moved to Washington. From Christoph Erlichmann he learned how she had eventually pulled herself together, throwing everything she had into her music. From conductor's in New York, Los Angeles, Philadelphia, and Paris he'd heard how Nodame had impressed them with her talent and dedication; of the hours she spent not only in rehearsals, but in talking with each and every individual musician, winning their hearts so that they played not just for the audience, but for her.

And from Yadovi he'd learned of Nodame's fear and heartbreak when she'd learned of her Rheumatoid Arthritis and the fact that she had at best three more years of playing. Nodame's closest friend had told Shinichi of the pain and stiffness she endured each and every day and the excruciating agony she went through after each performance. He'd also spent hours listening to the Parisian berate him for the fool he was and the emotional anguish and torment his leaving had caused that wonderful woman.

Finally, he spent even more hours listening to the intricate, original music that same woman had created out of her loneliness and despair. If Nodame's _Nocturne_ was her cry for help, then tonight's music was her own way of expressing the various stages of her grief. From denial to anger, from bargaining to depression, and finally reluctant acceptance of her fate and ending with her desperate prayer for eventual peace. Chiaki knew there was no way he could adequately express that desperation, but with Nodame's help he hoped to allow her voice to speak.

At the beginning of the eighth piece of the evening he knew it was finally nearing time. He'd have to wait until Nodame had made her own way to the stage so that the two of them wouldn't accidentally run into each other before she had taken her seat at the piano. That left him with precious little time to get from the dressing room he was sharing with Yukihisa to his position in the wings on the left side of the stage. They'd practiced it numerous times with Son Rui playing the role of Nodame, including every possible screw up they could think of, but there was always a chance for something to go wrong. This was Nodame after all.

"Chiaki-sama," came a soft knock and call on the closed door. "It's time. Nodame-sama has made her way to the stage right position. It's safe now for you to head to stage left."

"Yes, on my way," he called back just as softly, glancing in the mirror one last time to make sure his tux and tie were properly arranged. As a final check, he opened up his baton case to make sure the ivory colored piece of plastic was in its proper position, as was the small rubber figure of the anime character Gorota that Nodame had given him so many years ago before his first concours. "Gorota-kun, please lend me your strength once again. Not for me this time, but for Nodame," he sighed, not once thinking he was being foolish. He was done with that. Forever.

Running a nervous hand through his hair, he exited the dressing room and headed toward his future, whatever that might hold.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

_Fermata_

* * *

Fermata – _n. noun_ (\fer-ˈmä-tə\)

Finished, closed; i.e., a rest or note is to be held for a duration that is at the discretion of the performer or conductor (sometimes called _bird's eye_); a fermata at the end of a first or intermediate movement or section is usually moderately prolonged, but the final fermata of a symphony may be prolonged for longer than the note's value, typically twice its printed length or more for dramatic effect.

* * *

Nodame pulled her oldest friend into a tight hug. "Thank you for coming Milche," she whispered in his ear. "I'm honored."

"Oh, no, my dear," Franz smiled at her, lifting a wrinkled hand to brush it gently against her cheek. "the honor is mine. That you have allowed me to partake in this wonderful endeavor," he choked for a moment, then pulled Nodame into a tight hug. "I'm so proud of you, Nodame-chan. What you've created this night will stand the test of time, but what you've created of yourself is beyond words. No mentor could be any prouder of his protégé, no father could be prouder of his daughter than I am of you tonight."

The black taffeta clad pianist and composer hugged him back and placed a kiss on his wizened cheek. "Thank you, Milche. You don't know how much that means to me."

"Just go out there and show them what you're made of Nodame-chan," he chucked her under the chin, "and remember, no matter what happens, face the music properly."

"I will," she nodded even as the audience began clapping at the conclusion of the eighth piece. It was time. She gave Franz one last, quick hug, then turned and stood up straight. Tonight was her night. Everything she'd been hearing regarding the audience's reactions was uniformly positive. According to Elise's last report, even the critics were sitting forward in their seat nearly salivating. One had already finished writing up at least three or four pages of notes. When it was all over, she would walk off that stage with her head held high knowing that she'd given it her all. With a gentle nudge in the small of her back from her old friend, Noda Megumi stepped out onto the stage for the final performance of her career.

The audience surged to its feet as she stepped under the harsh lights, their applause sounding more like a continuous roll of thunder. There were even a few whistles and hoots from some of the younger members and Nodame did her best not to laugh. Their exuberance buoyed her up and began lifting her spirits far above where they had been. For this audience, for the love they were so freely offering her, she would give them her very best.

The brunette stopped first by Mine's chair as he stood to shake her hand. _Screw it!_ Instead, Nodame shocked him by pulling the blonde into a tight hug, one he eagerly returned once he'd gotten over his initial surprise. Nodame then went even further and bent over to pull Miki into a similar hug, whispering her grateful thanks into the raven colored hair that just barely fell across the violinist's ear. Her thanks given, she turned and walked up to shake Yukihisa's hand. Nodame would have hugged him as well, but his stern features told her it wouldn't be appreciated until _after_ the concert. "Thank you," she whispered to the slightly shorter man, bowing her head even as he bowed to her. Then there was nothing left but to walk to her piano and take a seat on the cushioned bench, fluffing her skirt to settle it around her legs and knees, being sure that her feet were free to access the piano's pedals.

She looked up at her conductor, smiled and nodded. He returned the nod, giving her a smile of his own along with a look that she couldn't figure out. He was trying to tell her something but for the life of her she didn't understand what. She found out when he turned to his right, stage left, to welcome another person stepping beneath the hot Kliegs.

_What the…Sempai!_

Now she knew what Milche had been warning her about. "_No matter what happens, face the music properly." That bastard! He knew!_ Nodame felt her face flushing with the heat of anger. She spun on her seat to first stare at a wholly unrepentant Mine and a sheepishly smiling Miki. Her next glance was to an impishly grinning Yadovi playfully hiding behind her synthesizer. The younger members of the orchestra, seeing her fury, shrank down in their seats, but her friends, the "old-timers" only smiled even more widely. _They planned this, each and every one of them! I swear I'll…I'll…_, Nodame hung her head and sighed in defeat. _I'll face the music properly._

Lifting her head she turned and glared at the still young looking man standing at the podium watching her every move. His eyes she could read. She saw the sadness, the heartfelt sorrow for what he'd done to her five years ago. But he wasn't asking for her forgiveness. No, his ego and haughtiness wouldn't allow that. In front of all these people, both musicians and audience members, he was still the brash, headstrong conductor that had stormed onto the scene after _she_ had made it possible for him to finally return to Paris. After she had followed him there and given him every iota of her love and support. After she had stepped into a world she wasn't prepared for.

Now it was her turn. She'd worked her butt off to get where she was, and even if tonight was the end, Nodame would show him that she hadn't wasted her time or energies. She'd show him what she'd accomplished with her own strength and determination.

She returned Chiaki's gaze and nodded her readiness. It had been nearly ten years since he'd first awoken from a drunken stupor to find himself passed out on the floor of her filthy apartment. Nearly ten years of excitement, joy, love, learning, growth, and eventual heartbreak. Nearly ten years, but she would finally get to play her concerto with Shinichi Chiaki conducting. It wasn't anything like what she'd hoped or wanted or dreamed, but it was happening, finally.

As a single, lonely violin began to play, in spite of herself, Nodame smiled.

She remembered Mine trying to argue that Miki was the better violinist and should play the opening notes to the "Pie Jesu," but Nodame had simply shaken her head.

"It has to be you, Mine," she'd told him. "Who else do we know, other than myself, that has felt the pain of putting someone else ahead of themselves to the point of sending them off alone, leaving us behind to fret and worry in our loneliness. When you told Miki to go back to Europe, to work hard to make a name for herself, and then to return and try to steal the first chair from you; you're happy now, but you remember those feelings, those painful emotions, that unselfish love. Those feelings will be with you your entire life. It's those feelings I need to lead off the 'Pie Jesu'."

And she'd been right. Every bit of Mine's love, loneliness, and pain was in that soft, slow, music. Then, coming in beneath it, Yadovi and her theremin, taking that loneliness and pain and raising it a factor of a hundred. It didn't last long, no more than eighteen seconds, but long before the second violin joined them, and then the third, Nodame knew that a shiver had run down every back in that packed, thirty-eight hundred seat theater. The violas joined the violins, then the cellos and basses, and finally the woodwinds and horns, growing to a crescendo before falling back once again and forcing the listener to lean forward in their chair to try to remain a part of this beauty.

And beneath it all, Yodavi's ominous synthesizer, an impending doom more felt than heard until she came crashing in at the start of the "Libera Me." A flurry of furious notes moving from the depths of Hell to the heights of Heaven before falling back down to Earth, promising both the agony and ecstasy of the Last Judgment.

Nodame found she'd closed her eyes so that she could better savor every note, every beat, every pause and every flutter, every stroke of the baton, and realized that her sempai was wringing every bit of skill and emotion that he could from the orchestra. The first and second movements were better than she'd ever heard them. More importantly, they were, for the first time, exactly true to what she'd originally imagined them to be. Her eyes flew open to see Chiaki exhorting even more from each musician, demanding that they give their utmost. It was monster Chiaki again…but it wasn't. In the past every time he'd entered this state it had been for his own aggrandizement. She could feel that this time it wasn't for himself. It was for her! All for her. Just as he did everything in his power to be true to Mozart, or Chopin, or Beethoven, he was doing everything to get her message out to the audience! Shinichi was faithfully telling her tale with his very being.

And there was only one way he could be doing that.

He understood.

He _finally_ understood.

Black eyes turned toward her and she couldn't help but return his smile. Shinichi Chiaki had finally listened to her. It had taken five long years, but he'd finally realized that in her life there was only him. There had only ever been him. He now knew what he'd done wrong and the pain he'd put her through, and he was apologizing to her in the only way he knew how.

He was taking her music and imbuing it with his own passions, adding his admission of guilt to her cries of agony. Publically confessing his role in causing all the pain and loneliness she had endured.

He was taking responsibility for his actions and promising to do better. To love her, no matter what the future might hold.

To stay by her side until the end, supporting her however she would allow him; whether as conductor, friend, lover…or husband.

How would she respond?

Four more bars. Three. Two.

How would she respond?

_Like this._

For the first time in what seemed like years, Noda Megumi played her heart out.

And she was heard.

-oo-

Tokyo – Yesterday evening at NHK Hall I had the distinct honor and privilege to be one of the first to hear a new kind of classical music from a new kind of composer. Now, I'm fully aware that there are those of you out there that believe the words "new" and "classical" are a contradiction in terms; an oxymoron. Classical music, you say, absolutely must follow certain strictures if it wishes to be considered something other than simply noise. Well, I sit here today to say to you who believe such statements that it is you who are the morons.

Last night I was treated to the next giant wave in the classical music world. I know and freely admit that she has called me an idiot on more than one occasion for comparing her to the likes of Mozart or Chopin. Today I bow to her greater wisdom, because with last night's concert Noda Megumi (Nodame to her friends of which I hope to one day become) took a giant step to the side, distancing herself from the acknowledged masters of old. But in my humble opinion, taking that step was only to ensure that the podium upon which she stood would be neither lower nor higher than those upon which the greats stand; only different.

The strictures that the naysayers will point to were definitely pushed aside by the nine different pieces I and the rest of the audience were presented with, but only so that the area encompassing classical music would be expanded and grow to enfold what was truly an evening of purest passion. Not once did I think that I'd somehow been transported to a Yes, King Crimson, or Midas rock concert. Every piece of music I was presented with belonged unarguably to the classical music genre. At every turn I could hear Mozart and Chopin, Ravel and Debussy, Beethoven, Liszt, Shubert, and any number of other greats just barely hidden within the confines of the music. But instead of seeing those same greats as having influenced Noda-sensei's compositions – although they obviously did – I felt as if I was listening to music that those same masters _wished_ they could have composed if they'd been given the opportunity and access to the instruments of today.

Just imagine the grins on Chopin's or Shubert's faces as they stand behind a Minimoog synthesizer. No more having to deal with a clavichord, harpsichord, or pianoforte. Think how quickly they'd throw away their old celestas! Just a simple programmable electric piano or Hammond organ would have left them busily creating brand new pieces of music that, if they were very, very lucky, might come close to what I had the pleasure of listening to yesterday evening.

Yet last night's concert was also bittersweet. I was there at the beginning, but it now appears that I was also there at the end. Just before printing time for this article I received word that Noda Megumi has officially retired from performing. The reason? That insidious disease that all too frequently steals the life and breath from our perfect world of music: Rheumatoid Arthritis. We have learned that Noda-sensei was diagnosed by her doctors over three years ago, but went against medical advice to continue performing. As the unwitting beneficiaries of that decision, we can only bow to her in grateful appreciation and pray that she continues to provide us with additional original pieces similar to those she has already bestowed upon us.

If the music itself wasn't enough, we in the audience were also treated to a special reunion of sorts. For the final piece of the evening, Noda-sensei's _Requiem_, which we now know was also her farewell performance, Rising Star Orchestra conductor Yukihisa Matsuda stepped down from the podium and handed the conducting responsibility over to Chiaki Shinichi, RSO's very first conductor. And I must say, I have never heard a _Requiem_ to match what I heard last night. Just as she did with her _Nocturne_, Noda-sensei's _Requiem_ as conducted by Chiaki-sensei left not a single dry eye in the house. I even heard one woman sitting in the mezzanine above me moaning uncontrollably. One can only imagine the depths of the emotions she was feeling at the time. I can, of course, only speak for myself.

To be brutally honest I spent nearly as much time attempting to write this one paragraph as I did the entire rest of this article. How does one describe the end of the world as we know it as well as the beauty of the world to which we will eventually, if we are lucky and have lived virtuous lives, aspire. I admit that I have never been a very religious man, but last night, for almost a half hour and especially for the final seventeen minutes, I wished I were, because I could only pray to whatever deity is out there that he or she was mercifully benevolent enough to allow this sinner entry into the Heaven I glimpsed.

I've been told that both a CD and DVD of yesterday's performance will be made available in the near future. I've also been told that a special on the NHK network will be televised sometime next month. DO. NOT. MISS. IT!

Finally, it was announced just this morning that while she may not perform for us again, Noda-sensei will be teaming up with Chiaki-sensei and another young woman by the name of Yadovi – supposedly a good friend of Noda-sensei's and, according to this concert's program, her co-arranger, theremin, and synthesizer player – to pen additional musical pieces for we her followers to enjoy. There were even rumors that the three would be living together to ensure that they fully understood the desires and passions of the other two.

One can only imagine and dream.

* * *

A/N: Thank you all so very much and I hope you enjoyed the story. Please, whether it's the same day I posted this chapter or years from now, feel free to drop me a comment and let me know your thoughts. I love hearing from you.

Take care,

CX


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